Dark Skies
by idreamofdraco
Summary: If things had seemed bad before, they were only getting worse. How could Hermione see the bright blue sky when it was covered with dark clouds? Is Lucius alive? Will Draco leave her? And has the curse returned? Sequel to Diary of a Songbird. DMHG.
1. Worries

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and terminology belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not making a profit by using them and only do so for my own fun. All will be returned relatively unharmed. _

_Author's Note: Finally! After _a lot_ of time, here is the next part of Diary of a Songbird! Enjoy the first chapter and review if you like it! A big thanks to everyone who has held on since DoaS, and to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing._

* * *

**Chapter One: Worries**

"Granger, Hermione."

She stood from her seat, stepping into the aisle that separated two large sections of chairs—all of which were taken by people she didn't know and some that she did. Her back was straight, her head held high. The eyes of the crowd followed her as she reached the top of the aisle and took the roll of parchment that signified the end of her Hogwarts career from Professor Dumbledore, and shook his hand.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger," he whispered proudly, smiling at her cheerily. She smiled back.

"Thank you, sir."

She shook the Deputy Headmistress's hand as well; the Scottish woman had tears in her eyes.

"Well done. I'm so proud. So very proud."

"Thank you, Professor."

Hermione took her place to the right of the Headmaster, beside her fellow students who'd come before her. Her eyes scanned the audience and found her parents, looking amazingly comfortable around the wizard majority. The Weasleys were easy to spot with their bright red hair. Mrs. Weasley dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and waved at Hermione. She gave a short wave back, feeling over the moon.

After seven years of hard work, she was graduating from Hogwarts. Her school life may have been ending but she was free to pursue any occupation she wished now.

She gave Neville Longbottom an encouraging grin as he joined her and the other students already called.

"Malfoy, Draco."

_He_ certainly had occupied much of her life for the past few months that they'd been dating. Draco walked up the aisle looking like the sex god she'd always thought him to be, his long hair shimmering in silver, his eyes flashing like ice. Her heart swelled just looking at him and her smile grew wider. Hermione had been in love with Draco for most of her seventh year. She couldn't imagine her life without him, as young as she was.

Draco took his certificate, but instead of standing at Professor Dumbledore's right, next to Neville, he stood at the Headmaster's left. Hermione tried to catch his eye and let him know he was standing in the wrong place, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were focused on the end of the aisle, though Hermione couldn't for the life of her tell why.

"Parkinson, Pansy."

Hermione stared at the Headmaster, as if trying to tell him that he had made a mistake. Theodore Nott should have come before Parkinson. Searching for him in the crowd, Hermione was sure she would find the Slytherin outraged at being skipped at his own leaving ceremony. But he wasn't. She was shocked to see him smiling as his eyes turned to the bottom of the aisle where Pansy Parkinson stood, covered from head to toe in white.

Long, delicate silk gloves covered her arms up to just above her elbows. Her dress robes were cut to accentuate her fine figure, a gauzy material laced beautifully to her body. Her short black hair fell in silky waves above her shoulders, blowing in the wind like a bloody super model.

The whole ensemble must have cost more than an average wedding would, but every Galleon was worth it. With an angry stab of envy, Hermione noted that pug-faced Parkinson looked more gorgeous than she had any right to be at a graduation ceremony.

Parkinson walked towards the altar—and yes, Hermione noted, it had always been an altar—slowly, throwing seductively smug smiles and glances towards the audience. It tittered in approval. Even Draco had an enraptured look on his face that bordered on a smile.

Hermione could only stare in disbelief as Draco took Parkinson's hand, both turning to face each other. Draco had to be under some sort of spell. This had to be stopped!

"Friends… Strangers… Loved ones," the Headmaster said to the crowd at large. "We gather here today to bear witness to—"

"No!" Hermione cried, stepping out of her place. She went ignored. It was as if no one even heard her.

"—the binding of Draco Sex-God Malfoy and Pansy Pug-Face Parkinson—"

"No! Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione screamed, a hole already forming in her beating heart. He didn't even acknowledge her. He only had eyes for his apparent fiancée. "You said you loved me! Were you lying?"

"Do you, Draco Sex-God Malfoy, bind Pansy Pug-Face Parkinson to yourself until death parts you?"

"Yeah, I do," Draco answered.

No! He couldn't! Draco had given himself to Hermione months ago, and she'd given herself to him. How could he just forget those months? Hermione ran to his side, grabbing his arm and tugging on it. She could hear people in the audience shout, "Get out of the way! We can't see!" She ignored them all.

"I love you, Draco!" she whispered to him, trying not to let smug Parkinson and the curious headmaster overhear. "I don't want to be without you!"

She was still invisible. Tears she had no desire to stop poured down her face, but everyone watched the happy couple and nothing else; the happy couple were too absorbed in themselves.

As Parkinson agreed to bind Draco to herself, Hermione lost the will to stop the strange wedding. She stared at the three people in front of her, her heart shattering in her chest. She found that she couldn't breathe and clutched her heart as if that would bring air back into her lungs. Great choking sobs wracked her body.

"By the gods above and the witnesses below, I declare Pansy and Draco bound! So mote it be," Dumbledore concluded to a din of applause.

The crowd shouted, "So mote it be!"

Professor Dumbledore smiled and spread his arms wide. "You may now kiss the bride!"

Draco threw Pansy over his arm and kissed her with more desire, more passion, than he had ever put into a kiss with Hermione, who watched half-choking, half-sobbing. Draco pulled his lips off his new wife and looked up at Hermione through his eyelashes.

Feeling numbly cold, she whispered through her tears, "Why are you doing this to me?"

He straightened up again clutching Pansy's hand possessively. Hermione tried not to remember how he used to hold _her_ the same way and failed dismally.

"You knew from the beginning this was going to happen, Hermione, and yet you clung on foolishly, thinking, no doubt, that you could talk me out of going through with my engagement."

Draco didn't speak unkindly, but his words still stung like a slap in the face. Hermione tried not to show him any more of her distress than he'd already witnessed, but she'd never been a master at masking her true feelings like he had.

"But no worries. I've found another Malfoy for you," Draco said happily. Hermione's eyes followed the gesture of his hand and landed on the tall, arrogant frame of Lucius Malfoy. She shook her head violently, her eyes wide, but he'd managed to be at her side in seconds, clutching her hand in a death grip.

"Don't worry, pet. I am here for you now."

Her head spun in dizzy circles. Hermione tried to pull her hand free but it was captured in Lucius's iron grasp. "No!" she sobbed, but no one heard her. No one listened to anything anymore because they seemed to be setting up another wedding. "No!" she cried repeatedly, as the man beside her pushed her in front of Professor Dumbledore at the altar. "Draco, no!" It was all she could say. But Draco was carrying Pansy down the aisle, the couple smirking at each other happily.

"NO!"

And just like that, Hermione Granger woke with a start, sitting up in bed so quickly that she really did feel dizzy. Her stomach churned with nausea, but a slurred voice next to her calmed her heart and body immediately.

"Wassamatter?"

Draco leaned on his forearm, his eyes still closed. The green duvet that had once covered both of their bodies now resided mostly on the floor of the bedroom assigned to Draco as Head Boy. The absence of the cover revealed two scantily clad teenagers, one still half-asleep, the other never more awake.

Hermione had the fleeting desire to hold onto her bed partner and never let him go. With some difficulty, she restrained herself. She couldn't let Draco know how badly shaken she was. It was enough that the end of their seventh year was fast approaching, and with it, the un-spoken-of betrothal, but to also tell him that she worried about his father being free and able to hurt people—when he was supposed to be dead—would only bring the stony glare back to his eyes. He'd worry needlessly when there might not be any danger at all—and worse of all, he wouldn't worry for himself—he never did—but for _her_. Draco's worry for Hermione on top of Hermione's worry for everyone else would only drive her mad.

Besides, for all she knew, he _was_ worrying and dealing with all of this. Maybe he didn't want to be reminded—or nagged—about it.

So for these reasons that might or might not have made any sense to another sane person, Hermione kept her fears to herself.

"I'm sorry I woke you. Please go back to sleep," she murmured, quite proud at how steady her voice was. She pulled the blanket from the floor and recovered their selves. Draco snuggled back into the warmth of his bed and her body, one possessive arm snaking over her bare stomach.

Hermione lay in the dark thinking about that arm. It had once borne the tattoo of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the Dark Mark, a connection and identifier of Voldemort's supporters. Once, Draco had sought the power and the glory he thought he could obtain from becoming a Death Eater like his father, but the Death Eaters had ended in ruin. Harry Potter, one of Hermione's best friends, had saved the world and defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, killing Lucius Malfoy in the process.

Until this past September when evidence that could prove Lucius was not dead surfaced in the form of an attack on Draco's mother. Found near Narcissa Malfoy's comatose body was a note written in an elegant hand. Hermione still remembered the bold words, and ran them through her mind.

_YOU DISMISS YOUR HUSBAND SO EASILY?_

Draco had said the only people who knew the wards into the Malfoy manor were his mother, his father, and himself. If Lucius were still alive, it would have been too easy for him to punish his wife for moving on from her supposedly deceased husband and not be blamed for his actions.

If that wasn't the most curious thing, while Narcissa lay in a coma at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, she received bouquets of flowers with unsigned cards apologizing for some misdeed. Draco had demanded the flowers be removed and for the hospital to take no more deliveries of them. After the incident at St. Mungo's concerning Boderick Bode being strangled in his sleep by a potted plant, Hermione couldn't blame him.

If Lucius Malfoy was alive and exacting revenge, he could easily go after Harry, and to hurt Harry most, he'd just need to hurt someone he loved. The Boy-Who-Lived had already lost so many people he cared for. Despite killing a dark lord, he might not be able to take the loss of any other loved ones.

Hermione worried for him and for herself. She was a Muggle-born—a witch born from non-magical parents—and to some people like the Malfoys, she didn't deserve any place in wizarding society. Malfoy senior could hurt Hermione by going for her defenseless parents. It was a truth she struggled with daily, because she was more than ready to believe that Lucius Malfoy had faked his own death.

And once he found out that Draco had been dating Hermione for months…he'd be angry, wouldn't he? Whom would he punish: his own son or his son's Mudblood girlfriend?

She shivered in the cold air, remembering how little she was wearing. Pulling the duvet up to her neck and settling closer to Draco, she did not expect to see his silver eyes watching her.

"You'll tell me what's wrong tomorrow, won't you?" he asked her seriously, sounding much more awake than he had previously.

Her eyes softened for him and her body warmed. Nothing could ever measure the amount of love Hermione Granger held for Draco Malfoy. She would forever be grateful that he had realized the truth about his former blood purity ideologies and fallen for her as well.

She nodded slightly and replied, "Yes, of course. Now go back to sleep."

His eyes held hers for a second longer, trying to determine the truth, but soon he was falling back into his dreams—more pleasant ones than hers, Hermione hoped.

But as she stared at the face of the man she loved—his fair hair framing his flawless face, blond eyelashes settling on snow-pale cheeks—she knew that no matter what she promised, she never would tell him about her worries.

* * *

The passing of time was not signified by the last class of the day, dinner, or even the eventual night. The only way Hermione could mark the end of one day and the beginning of another was the dream—or nightmare, as was most cases—she had in the interim. She dreamed every night, her subconscious reminding her of the horrors hidden away in her daily life. Most nights, she startled awake, usually waking Draco with her since they shared the same bed. She had no idea how long Draco would continue to go without voicing his worry for her lack of sleep—there couldn't possibly be any way he had _not_ noticed. 

Ginny Weasley, on the other hand, tended to notice Hermione's health, to the Head Girl's chagrin. At breakfast, the younger girl liked to mention how tired Hermione looked, and Hermione was always tired. Maybe it was just the nightmares, but Hermione hadn't felt like she'd gotten a full night of sleep since October. As it was the beginning of February, she wasn't quite sure exactly how she had been able to function properly.

After breakfast, as Hermione gathered her bag to go to her first class of the day, Ginny liked to bug her about how little she'd eaten, but because of her fears and nightmares, Hermione woke up nauseous every morning and never felt much like eating until lunchtime when her stomach settled. So far, Draco was the only one who knew of the nausea. He always watched over her while she became sick in their shared bathroom with a scowl on his face and a crease in his brow.

Hermione knew he was thinking the same thing she was. What if the curse came back? What if it had never gone? Either way, she couldn't let herself think that. Professor Snape had brewed the cure for her months ago. It couldn't possibly come back.

_Or could it?_

_No._ It couldn't. She would not allow it.

And even though Hermione's loss of appetite prevented her from eating too much, she seemed to be gathering weight. Her robes didn't fit quite as loose around her chest as they used to, and her jeans were becoming tighter and tighter around the waist. She tried not to think about the reasoning behind her weight gain. Really, ever since fear had begun dominating her life, she'd let herself go. She no longer used the shampoo that made her hair wave gently, so it became a wild bushy mass again. The little make up she had started to wear the summer before, she couldn't be bothered to put on anymore.

The fear that the curse had never truly been gone, the possible threat of Lucius Malfoy, Draco's imminent engagement, even the upcoming N.E.W.T.s examinations, were all too much for Hermione to handle, especially as isolated as she was making herself. She never saw her friends save for meals and classes, and when she did see them, she was usually withdrawn or lost in her own thoughts. Of course, she tried not to be so unoccupied that her mind could wander; it usually found its way to Lucius and everything else she feared now.

Praying became her nightly ritual before sleep. For the first time in her life, Hermione prayed for her family's safety, for a sign that Lucius was dead, for a way that Draco could be released from his betrothal. Draco didn't understand what praying achieved for her, but he could see that it was an act of desperation or she would have done it before now. As the days passed, he worried for her more—no matter how much she lied trying to assure him that she was fine.

Until the owl arrived on February 13, shoving his worries for Hermione to the back of his mind.

On that morning, Hermione pushed her food from her face, too sickened with it to eat, when she saw the brown, white-speckled bird land in front of Draco. His face was indifferent as he received the letter, but while reading it his eyes widened fractionally and his mouth tightened at the corners. His head lifted, scanning the Great Hall until he found Hermione's enquiring eyes.

She watched him leave the Slytherin table and head her way, and then he was sitting next to her with the Gryffindors. He had sat with her at the Gryffindor table on one occasion before, but that was months ago, on the day he'd decided that everyone should know they were dating. The whispering fourth year girls at the end of the table giggled and stared at them now. Hermione was only aware of the triumphant, but grim, sparkle in Draco's eye.

Before speaking, he looked around as if to make sure no one else could hear them. Hermione's interest peaked exponentially, though she knew his secrecy shouldn't have surprised her.

"Mum's awake and she's asking for me," he said quietly, leaning towards Hermione with caution towards eavesdroppers. "I'm going to ask Dumbledore if I can start my weekend early to visit." Draco still hadn't mastered muttering the headmaster's name without the typical tone of disgust, but Hermione had long ago stopped trying to change it.

She looked up at him in surprise, never expecting him to say _that_. Hermione had never liked Narcissa Malfoy, or thought of the day she would wake up from her coma. Strangely, if Narcissa had not been attacked and hospitalized, Hermione and Draco never would have become friends—or started the precarious relationship they now had. Despite the upcoming engagement between Draco and Pansy Parkinson, Hermione was still grateful for the time she had with him and the love that they shared. Selfishly, she couldn't regret the attack on Narcissa and only sympathized with the woman because she was Draco's mother. The attack had worried him severely, causing Hermione to see a deeper side to him than the spoiled, arrogant jerk she'd always thought him to be.

Hermione _was_ grateful for every circumstance that brought them together, even the attack on Narcissa. Hearing that she had woken up produced conflicting emotions within the teenaged girl. She was startled to realize that she was genuinely happy for Draco.

Especially since visiting his mother would give him a distraction from everything that worried him. Then Hermione could get a little room to breathe for a while.

Draco frowned uncertainly. Hermione grasped that he was waiting for her to say something. She conjured a smile and put a hand on his arm.

"That's _wonderful_, Draco. No, really, you _should_ go see her. And don't worry about me, I'll be fine here." She was again startled by her own sincerity. It felt like lately she had been out of touch with even her own emotions, but she knew that every word she said was true. Draco knew it too.

"I want you to come with me again," he murmured purposefully, but Hermione was already shaking her head gently.

"She's been comatose for five months. You should have some privacy with her first. She doesn't even know about me yet," she replied.

Draco's eyes searched hers—Hermione didn't know what he was looking for, but she didn't turn away. He seemed to have found it, because he leaned in and kissed her lips softly. Hermione responded with unexpected eagerness. It seemed as though she hadn't been close to him in months, though she knew that wasn't true. She felt like she was starving for him and, quite suddenly, she didn't want him to leave.

But as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, he pulled away slightly.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. He stood up quickly and left the Great Hall before anyone could witness his strange mood, Hermione thought. As the large wooden doors closed behind him, she couldn't help but liken the sound to the blade of a guillotine crashing down on someone's unassuming head. Hers, maybe.

At the end of the table, the fourth year girls tittered and murmured.

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_Author's Note: The second chapter is written, I just need to type it up and send it to my beta. Despite that, quick updates are not guaranteed. Sorry, sorry. School starts Monday and I'm also writing an original story so my time is limited. (Besides, I was never very good at budgeting my time, either.)_


	2. News

_October 7, 2007  
__Disclaimer: Still applies. Not mine, and no money.  
Author's Note: I apologize for the delay. I meant to have this chapter up weeks ago, but school kept getting in the way and my weekends are spent traveling for sports. Here is chapter two. Reviews welcome and appreciated! Oh, and just as a reminder, in case anyone's forgotten or it's not obvious, this story, like Diary of a Songbird, is neither Half-Blood Prince nor Deathly Hallows compliant.  
_

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**Chapter Two: News**

"Miss Granger! Are you listening? I will have to deduct five points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said with clear disapproval in her voice and on her face.

Was Hermione in Transfiguration already? The day had passed in scant moments, and she had missed most of them. Lunch had merely been ten minutes that she had allowed herself to sit and stare at food she did not eat. She couldn't remember her morning classes for the life of her. Her head was too full of… everything. She thought this must be what stress felt like when she'd reached the end of her rope.

Now she knew what it felt like to desperately need a Pensieve.

What had happened to the wildly anxious Hermione, who used to study and snipe for hours when worried about looming exams and such? Why had she turned into this nervously depressed girl with dull hair and eyes? Where was the vitality she'd had while she was still cursed—even if that vitality had made her appear quite mad at times?

The shell of a girl that she was now was too nervous—more than necessary, Hermione knew, but how could she control her fear and the impending loss of Draco to an undeserving girl? Love, she realized, had changed her, but how could she ever regret it? It hadn't changed her for the worse; she was better than she ever had been or could ever grow to be. Just the thought of losing the only man she had ever loved reduced her to the empty creature she had become.

Sitting on a familiar rock by the lake shore, Hermione thought about the last few months and how they had changed her. It was her free period now. Usually she would take to the library and study until dinner time, but today she'd decided to go outside with her books and get some fresh air. Hopefully the cool breeze in her hair and the smell of the lake would be enough to clear her head. Maybe a solution to everything would come to her if she sat on the rock that had started it all.

After an hour, she realized that despite boarding at a school of witchcraft and wizardry, no brilliant idea was going to magically waltz into her mind. She sighed and tried to look on the bright side. At least she had a chance to be alone and away from other people for an hour. Though when she was alone, thoughts of Lucius Malfoy were more likely to creep up on her and smother her with fear.

She didn't see Ginny's approach until the fiery-haired girl was standing beside the rock. Hermione was struck by deja-vu. The scene was too reminiscent of an earlier, more trivial time. Ginny climbed up onto the rock and settled down next to Hermione, ignorant of the older girl's thoughtful mood.

"You didn't eat lunch," Ginny commented conversationally.

Irked, Hermione finally snapped. "What's it matter to you what I don't eat? You are not my mother, and hardly my caretaker." She crossed her arms over her chest petulantly, a barrier from the world.

"No, I'm not," Ginny agreed heatedly. "But I am your friend—or at least, I _thought_ I was—and I'm worried about you!"

"Who said I needed you to worry about me? I don't! I don't need this pressure! Not from you or Harry or Ron or even Draco!" She clutched her head, pulling her own hair, in frustration or pain, neither girl knew. Hermione could feel the hated tears forming in her eyes and despised Ginny for bringing them on. The younger girl stared at her friend in astonishment, unsure of how to help her or even what she needed help with.

"No one is pressuring you, Hermione," Ginny said. "We know something is bothering you. We just want to help."

Hermione lifted her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. In a pained voice she whispered, "But you _can't _help me. You have to understand that I'm not just saying that. It's with Draco now and I reckon I already know what he's going to do."

Ginny stared at Hermione until Hermione fidgeted under her scrutiny.

"But you can talk to us, and we'll listen. And talking will make you feel better, even if it solves nothing."

Hermione was quiet as she thought over everything that bothered her. She had been reluctant to confide in Draco because she didn't want to worry him more, but she could definitely share her burden with Ginny. Ginny would gladly take it without any of the extra emotions Draco might have felt: his guilt for choosing Pansy over her, his fear over Hermione's well-being, his anger that she had not talked to him sooner…

"I love him so much, Ginny. You just don't understand how much. When I'm in his arms and he's kissing me, my body trembles and I want to sob or scream or something, because he makes me so happy and I can't live without him." Hermione's hands shook now. She clutched them together to stop the shaking. So far her tears hadn't fallen, but she knew that they would soon.

"And does he love you back?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Yes. I can't believe he loves me back. Despite who he is. Despite what we were." Ginny was warmed by the small smile on Hermione's face. She knew Draco did indeed love Hermione. Anyone who saw him could see a boy in love—even if they _hadn't_ known him before Hermione.

"This doesn't sound like a problem, Hermione," the younger girl said, smiling teasingly.

Hermione's head snapped in her direction, blinking fervently to halt the tears.

"I'm losing him, Ginny! Once we've left school, I will lose the one person I care most for in this world!"

"It can't be as dramatic as that!" Ginny replied skeptically but surprised. "I can tell that Malfoy's crazy for you! Why would he leave?"

"He's the only thing I want. Why is he the only thing I want? But yes… forever. I want Draco Malfoy." She spoke morosely to herself, as if she hadn't heard the other girl speak. She made it sound as if wanting Draco was the worse thing in the world; Ginny didn't understand it. The tears had finally fallen free and Hermione did nothing to stop them. It felt like all she did was cry lately.

"And why can't you have him?" Ginny demanded. Hermione was just being ridiculous! "I mean—what am I saying? You _do_ have him!"

No matter how much Hermione tried to run from the inevitable truth, it always came back to haunt her—to bite her in the arse. She turned her head away from Ginny, almost afraid to watch her expression change from incredulity at Hermione's odd behavior to—to whatever she'd feel about the news. It couldn't be good, she knew.

"He's _engaged_ to Pansy Parkinson!" Hermione cried, enunciating the word 'engaged' with as much loathing as she possibly could. "He's practically been engaged to her since he was born! I'd never be welcome to marry him."

"Honestly, you were never welcome to marry him, what with his parents' beliefs about blood purity and all."

Hermione glanced at Ginny shrewdly, to discern whether she was trying to make a joke. The girl's face was inscrutably serious, so Hermione didn't take offense.

"What am I going to do?" Hermione whispered dejectedly.

"You need to talk to Malfoy about this," Ginny replied.

"Talk to him!" she scoffed. "Draco doesn't know that I know he's engaged!"

"He didn't tell you?" Ginny asked loudly.

Hermione waited a moment while the wind blew her hair out of her face. She didn't look at Ginny at all.

"No. I overheard it."

"Well, Hermione, why wasn't _he_ the one to tell you? He should have, if he's at all serious about you. He can't possibly think he can have you _and_ marry Parkinson!" This last she added as if speaking to herself.

"I don't know," Hermione muttered, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. "I'm afraid to talk to him about it and find out he was always going to marry her, despite me. I don't want to find out he doesn't actually love me."

"You'd rather stay in the dark about his true intentions?"

"Yes. It would hurt less."

"But it would hurt more later!"

The girls were silent with their thoughts. Ginny raged to herself, mentally stuffing Malfoy's head into a toilet for putting Hermione in this situation. Hermione sat worried, wondering if she'd done the right thing in confiding in Ginny. She would likely blow everything out of proportion. Or maybe she would be exactly right. Hermione was afraid that Ginny would be right.

"Hermione…"

Hermione interrupted. "Look, you said you could tell that he changed for me, that he's crazy for me."

"But what if he's playing you? What if he drags this out, makes you fall in love with him, and then dumps to you marry Parkinson? What if he planned to break you from the beginning? Look at you! You're already broken!"

"I don't want to think that's true. I can't. It would kill me if it was." Ginny could tell that Hermione was right. If Draco left her, Hermione probably would never get over it. Not for a hundred and fifty years.

Why was the sun shining so brightly? The weather should agree with Hermione's mood. Where were the rain clouds that had molested the sky on that Saturday that she and Draco had started their tentative friendship? Where was the torrential rain to drown her in her misery? Where was the wind to freeze her in place, without her golden sun to warm her? She so wasn't in the mood for this beautiful weather.

"You need to talk to Malfoy about this," Ginny repeated firmly.

"I know. I'll try."

"No. You have to do it, because if he's playing with you, you need to get out of this relationship!"

"I said I would try!"

But even if Draco was only stringing Hermione along, that did not mean she wouldn't miss him. That didn't mean she was ready to give him up. Her stomach rebelled against the breakfast she had barely eaten at the thought of life without Draco Malfoy. Unimaginable! Five months ago she would have rejoiced to never see him again. She would have been happier for it. And now…

Now thinking of parting from him made her head pound ferociously; the world began to tip around her. She slid off of the rock and stumbled onto the ground.

"Hermione?" Ginny slid off of the rock and grabbed her arm when she suddenly stumbled again and fell.

"I don't feel so good, Gin," she muttered before her stomach lost the battle and pitched her breakfast forward.

All sore feelings put aside instantly, Ginny helped Hermione up and said, "Come on, let's get you to the Hospital Wing."

Ginny tried to carry most of Hermione's weight as they headed to the fourth floor, but she was feeling much better, like she'd never been sick in the first place. Despite this, Ginny still insisted she see Madam Pomfrey. If she thought Hermione's lack of argument on the matter was strange, she didn't mention it. Privately, Hermione wanted to know if the curse really was completely lifted with no after effects. If it was, then why was she so worried about someone's existence when it hadn't been confirmed yet? And though it wasn't blood anymore, why was she throwing up again?

Madam Pomfrey had an amazed and slightly concerned expression on her face when she saw Ginny walk in the Hospital Wing with Hermione hanging onto her shoulder. The medi-witch, like Hermione, probably hadn't expected to see her again after the curse was lifted.

"What is it now, Miss Granger?" she asked, in what would have been exasperation if not for the soft hint of fondness in her voice. "Or is it you, Miss Weasley?"

Hermione was cut off from speaking by her companion.

"Hermione hasn't been eating lately and she got sick while we were by the lake just a moment ago." Hermione couldn't bring herself to glare at her friend. Now that she was here, she was curious and frightened to find out what was wrong.

"Well, there's your answer there!" Madam Pomfrey said firmly, in a tone Ginny had never heard her use before. It wasn't strict at all but caring; Hogwart's resident nurse was known for her firmness, not her kindness. "You are nauseous because you don't eat, Miss Granger. You should take better care of yourself," she admonished, conjuring a plate of sandwiches and two glasses of pumpkin juice and pushing them into the girls' hands.

Hermione set the plate and her glass on a side table. "But, Madam, are you sure the curse is gone? There aren't any lasting effects from it? I wake up every morning nauseous, and the thought of food only makes it worse." She lowered her voice and leaned towards the medi-witch slightly, so Ginny would not hear. "And I'm starting to worry about… things. Things I shouldn't have to worry about." Louder, she continued. "Are you sure I was cured?"

The older woman put her hands on her hips and said, "I don't know if you are insinuating that Professor Snape deliberately left the curse in place—No, let me finish!—but I have faith in his abilities. Since you _insist_ on making acromantulas out of spiders… I will show you that neither of you have anything to fear!"

She led the two girls to a bed and told Hermione to sit down. Ginny sat on the edge of the bed opposite her with a sandwich in hand.

"Lay back."

Once Hermione did so, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over her body like she had three months ago when looking for a curse in her body. This time, bright blue figures flowed out of the wand tip and she read them with a practiced eye. Hermione watched her eyes narrow as she waved the wand parallel over her body again. A bewildered, incredulous expression replaced the confidence of a moment ago on the medi-witch's face. The blue figures hung in the air, but neither Hermione nor Ginny could read them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked apprehensively.

Madam Pomfrey stared at Hermione calculatingly. When she spoke, her voice was almost cutting; it no longer held an air of fondness or puzzlement. Only her halted words belied her amazement.

"Well—it's likely a mistake, though I normally don't make mistakes if I do say so—"

"What does it look like, then?" Ginny interrupted, looking as anxious as Hermione felt.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, not realizing that she'd stopped breathing. Something _was_ wrong; she had dreaded it all along. The medi-witch was much too matter-of-fact to joke about a student's health. It had to be bad news that she discovered.

Madam Pomfrey was looking at Ginny now, weighing whether or not she should make this easy or hard. She sighed and turned back to Hermione, noting the terror on her face. She replaced her wand back into her robes, taking on her professional tone again.

"The curse hasn't returned, Miss Granger. I do believe that it is gone for good."

"That's good then!" Ginny cried in confusion. Madam Pomfrey still looked like she had swallowed one of her nasty potions.

"Yes, it is. But it appears your symptoms are due to the fact that you are fifteen weeks pregnant, instead."

After that, the only sound Hermione could hear was the steady pounding of her heart. She couldn't remember what the medi-witch had said, but instinctively she knew it was not good news. The ceiling was spectacularly white; she noticed it absently when she looked up. It was probably covered with tile because the school had actually been constructed with grey stones. What was she shocked about again? Oh, yes. Pregnant.

"That's mad!" Ginny cried. "In order for her to be pregnant, she'd have to have had…"

Understanding perfectly, of course, Hermione's face reddened in shame and more tears brightened her eyes.

"But I _have_," she admitted in embarrassment, in pain. Drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she repeated over and over again, "_I have, I have, I have_," refusing to look at the astonishment on Ginny's face and the sympathetic scowl on Madam Pomfrey's. The medi-witch sat on the bed with Hermione but didn't put her arm around her. Ginny still stood with an expression like she'd just received the greatest shock of her life.

"We were careful every time. I know we were!" Hermione whimpered quietly, as if anything louder would shatter her.

"How can you be careful about something like that?" Ginny demanded quite stridently as she paced between the beds. "As far as I know, there's only one way to "be careful" and you obviously didn't do _that_!"

Hermione flinched. She couldn't quite understand why Ginny was offended by this situation. Ginny's anger towards her was only distressing Hermione more.

"There was a potion," Hermione replied in a quiet voice. "The dose was so small that I made one cauldron-full and it's lasted us since." Her cheeks flamed crimson at the confession of what measures she had gone to to sleep with Draco multiple times. Thinking about it, though, she recalled one night and her bright eyes widened in horror.

"I never forgot the potion," she declared as tears slid down her face. "But I didn't brew it until after the first time. That first night… We didn't expect to do _that_… We didn't think at all."

"But don't you see what you've done, Hermione?" Ginny interjected. "After what you told me earlier, and now this?"

"_I know, Ginny!_" Hermione bawled as her tears turned to sobs. "Don't you think I know that?"

And she did. In the short time she'd had to get used to the idea that she was pregnant, Hermione had already thought about Draco and his engagement to Pansy Parkinson. What if he left her and she was stuck to care for his baby on her own? What if Lucius Malfoy found out he had a half-blood grandson and came after Hermione and the child? What if Draco decided to leave her only after he found out about the baby?

Was there any way to… take care of the situation? Maybe she didn't _have_ to have the baby…

Ginny seemed to feel guilty about yelling at Hermione because she sat down on her other side and put her arms around her. Hermione leaned into her shoulder and cried in earnest now, bringing tears of sympathy and regret to Ginny's eyes, too.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You don't need that right now. You're absolutely positive, Madam Pomfrey? She's pregnant?" Ginny asked the medi-witch over Hermione's crying.

"Yes. I think so," she responded. Her crispness had faded to sadness.

"Fifteen weeks, you said?"

"Yes, about three and half months."

Hermione shot her head up. Of course it had been that long—but shouldn't she _look_ more pregnant than she did? Shouldn't her stomach be all round, and shouldn't she be experiencing morning sickness or something?

And then she remembered that she did—every morning. She woke up nauseous and Draco usually held back her hair for her. A clear symptom had been there in front of her for the longest time, and still, she'd never even guessed what it could mean. She'd only assumed that the curse might have been returning or that all her worries had started to affect her like the curse used to.

"Three and a half months! She doesn't even _look_…" Hermione barely heard Ginny utter in disbelief.

"Well, you said so yourself," Madam Pomfrey said, "that she isn't eating. She needs to take care of herself now that she knows, and she needs to see a Maternity Healer as soon as possible. She is probably malnutritioned."

Hermione wailed louder.

"Can't she just see you, Madam Pomfrey?" Ginny asked in alarm.

"I'm not qualified for that, but we may be able to work out getting a Healer to see her at Hogwarts," the older woman replied. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see if I have any potions I can give Miss Granger to help with the morning sickness and vitamins to bring back your health. Really, nearly four months pregnant and she hasn't eaten at all!" She left the bedside muttering to herself.

"Ginny! I can't do this!" Hermione sobbed and Ginny felt the tears roll down her face now. "It'll be all right, Hermione," she murmured, even though she knew no such thing, though it made her feel better to say it. "You'll get through this. I will help you. Harry and Ron will help you."

That did _not_ help at all.

Hermione could not for one minute imagine the look on Harry and Ron's faces when they found out about this. She would have to admit to sleeping with Draco, and even though Ron was happy with Claire Rivage now, it would mean that she'd given Draco something that she had refused to give Ron when they dated.

"They are going to hate me," she whispered hopelessly. She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion but the tears continued to flow.

"No, they won't. They're your friends."

"They'll hate me!" she repeated. "And Draco! _Oh, Merlin_. What will I tell Draco?" She was inconsolable after that. Nothing Ginny could do or say would calm her down. "He can't know, Ginny! "Don't ever let him find out!" she pleaded.

"Hermione, I don't think that's such a…"

"You have to promise me he won't find out!"

When Hermione's hair was frizzing more than it had in months, when her eyes were red and puffy and tears soaked her cheeks, when she looked so helpless and alone… Ginny couldn't refuse. Even though she disagreed with Hermione's decision completely and thought it was the wrong thing to do.

"Alright, Hermione. I promise."

"Oh!" she cried as she surprised the redhead by throwing herself in her arms.

But Ginny couldn't help but think that nothing good could come from her compliance.

* * *

_Author's Note: Here's something you might find interesting: This chapter was originally chapter twenty-eight of Diary of a Songbird. It was so difficult for me to write that I scrapped it and just stopped writing DoaS completely. The chapter you have just read has obviously been modified to fit what's happening now. Even though I rewrote it about three times, it was still difficult for me to type up. I don't know that I'm as happy with it as I could be, but it'll do for now. On another note. I get lots of comments about my age in reviews. I was thirteen when I started writing DoaS, and fifteen by the time I stopped writing it. I am sixteen now and a Junior in high school. Just to be clear, you know. Chapter three is written but I don't know when I will have time to type. As always, quick updates are not guaranteed but I'll try my hardest!_


	3. Mother and Son

_January 1, 2008  
Disclaimer: See chapter one. Not mine, no money.  
Author's Note: Happy New Year, everyone! I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I took November off to participate in National Novel Writing Month to write out an original story idea I've had in my head lately, but I'm ready to get back into_ Dark Skies _I want to_ _thank everyone who has reviewed and stayed with me, as well as my beta _Lyndsie Fenele, _who is awesome_.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Mother and Son**

Draco's stride was purposeful as he climbed the stairs to the floor his mother resided on in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. When he gave his name to the witch behind the front desk, his voice didn't falter. His stomach churned with nerves, but at least his voice was steady. The witch at the desk immediately sent him back to his mother's private room. As he approached the door, he steeled himself. He couldn't appear weak to Narcissa Malfoy, especially if he was going to tell her he'd been dating Hermione Granger since she'd become comatose. And how the hell was he supposed to tell her that he didn't intend to marry Pansy?

As Draco prepared to knock on the door, he thought he heard an impassioned voice from inside. The voice ceased as soon as he made his presence known, and when he opened the door, he saw his mother sitting up in bed—a bit pale and thin, but undoubtedly alive.

Draco felt a large knot in his chest loosen with relief. She was there and alive. Nothing else mattered except for that fact.

"Mother."

The corners of her mouth were turned down and her eyes were lined with worry, but as soon as she saw Draco she smiled and all signs of her distress disappeared. Draco embraced her and kissed her cheek, then sat in the chair pulled up next to the bed, holding her hand.

He thought he would feel differently about this.

He was supposed to feel… relief. Relief that she was awake, relief that she wasn't dead. He _did_, but wasn't it supposed to be… more? Draco was happy to see her—but that was all. It was like a pleasant visit he hadn't expected but conveniently received. Shouldn't he have missed her more? Worried about her more?

In truth, he hadn't thought much about Narcissa since he received the letter from St. Mungo's informing him of the attack on her. The blame landed with Hermione, though of course she hadn't distracted him knowingly. Draco had been so caught up in their relationship that thoughts of his mother were pushed aside. There was always something to worry about with Hermione to keep him occupied: the curse Dolohov had put on her, how to take it off, and now, the fear that it had come back.

Still, none of this was Hermione's fault. Draco had chosen to be distracted by her. He had chosen to make her his priority, his life, and to worry about her. He had chosen to make her more important than anything and anyone else.

So, besides his initial mild happiness and relief to see his mother, the only thing Draco felt now was guilt for forgetting her during a difficult ordeal, even if she had been unconscious throughout it.

Before Narcissa could ask him what was wrong—for he knew she could see right through him—he moved to the edge of this chair and, his voice nearly frantic, asked, "So did you see who attacked you, mother? Please don't tell me it was father."

Her eyes had closed as if to block out the memory, but once Draco mentioned his father, they flew open in shock.

"Your… your father?"

Draco mistook her tone and body language for outrage and apologized at once. "I know he's dead, but when I heard the details of the attack, it just seemed like he'd…" Draco trailed off, lost in thought. That was one less thing to worry about, and the news that Lucius was not alive should certainly relieve Hermione. She didn't need things to worry about, and _he_ was sure relieved.

Narcissa looked nervously in the direction of the door, and Draco expected to hear about her attacker.

"No, Draco," she said quietly, her hands fidgeting in the bed sheets, "I… I didn't see who attacked me. He hit me from behind."

Disappointed, Draco moved deeper into his chair. "We'd hoped you might have seen him," he said unthinkingly.

"Who is 'we'?"

Slightly startled by the question—and how soon he would have to explain his relationship with Hermione—Draco composed his expression, putting the mask back in place. No one would have been able to tell what he was really feeling then.

"'We'. As in Hermione Granger and I."

"Granger?" Draco could hear the disgust. "The Mud—"

"_Don't call her that!_" he interrupted fiercely. Narcissa was obviously startled, but soon her anger kicked in and took over.

"_Don't you talk to me like that, Draco!_ I'm still your mother whether I'm away, unconscious, or dead! And you know better than anyone the way things are—"

"I'll apologize for snapping, but not for what I said," he seethed, his teeth clenched.

"Draco, _what_ has gotten into you?" Narcissa's eyes widened, but she was still beautifully fierce. "Oh, don't tell me… the Mu—Granger girl?"

Draco could feel his temper rising higher, boiling. This was not the way he wanted to explain things, and he didn't want her to be angry when he did. The only way to make her understand would be when she was calmer, and her mind a bit more open.

Even so, he couldn't resist snarking back, "No, but I'll admit it was the other way around."

"Oh, Draco, how _could_ you? What about standards? What about our family? Will you just be an embarrassment to us?"

"Who gives a fuck about this family? No one respects us, they fear us. And I won't be an embarrassment. Father did a fine job of _that_ on his own! Being proven a Death Eater and letting Harry Potter kill him!"

His anger was so vicious that Draco was surprised the building hadn't caught fire with it. He was sure his shouting could be heard from the hall—possibly the receptionist's desk. He jumped out of his chair to pace back and forth, controlling the impulse to throw something, preferably the chair he had just been sitting in.

Narcissa paled and said nothing. For a few minutes she just watched Draco as he dealt with his affliction. Malfoys were controlled people. They did not yell, cry, scream, or love. It was weak to show that something affected them enough that their _faces_ actually conveyed their feeling. Draco had just broken that rule. Narcissa wondered if he was about to break more.

After a while, when he seemed calmer, she asked quietly, "What about Pansy?"

Draco sighed and turned his glare on his mother. "Who cares about Pansy? I've always despised her. I won't marry her."

"So…what? You are just going to marry this—this—_Granger_?" she snapped.

"If she will have me, then yes, yes, I might," he muttered back. He reclaimed his seat in the chair and stared anywhere except at his mum's angry face.

"I thought you hated that girl?"

"I used to. But then I got to know her. She isn't just a brain after all," he replied, a fond smile growing larger on his mouth. "She's the only one who can really make me laugh, and she's sexy as hell, though she'd never believe me if I told her." He looked into Narcissa's disgusted and skeptical eyes. "And she loves me as much as I love her. If she wants me forever, I will be there for her."

Narcissa was again startled. She had never seen her son show this amount of commitment and devotion to anyone before. She couldn't help the hurt that was growing inside at the thought that the first person Draco had told he loved, and the first person he had ever admitted to loving, was a Muggle-born girl he had hated since he was eleven. What a waste… the Malfoy heir and everything that that meant, with _her_?

"But, Draco… How could you sully yourself—your reputation!—with a Muggle? Surely you see that you deserve better?"

"She's not a Muggle, Mum. She's brilliant." He smiled wide. "And pure blood doesn't mean anything. Hermione outperforms me in every class." His voice turned into a whisper. "I've seen her blood. Not just a drop, a load of it, several times. We are biologically the same. There is nothing different about us. We come from families that are supposed to care for us, we both want to succeed somewhere in life, we want to belong to someone and have families of our own someday. She's very clean, I promise," he joked.

But then the smile left his face, because Hermione didn't really look clean these days. She didn't look cared–for, the way he should be caring for her. The bushy hair had made a reappearance, her skin was always sallow now, and she'd gained weight but didn't eat. She didn't even bother with makeup anymore.

Suddenly, he wished he was back at Hogwarts with her so that he could force her into submission and let him take care of her. He would take all of her burdens, if only she would give them to him.

He suddenly caught Narcissa glancing at the door nervously again. Her face had paled. Draco took a look at the door but there wasn't anything there that he could see. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. There was another chair, this one made of metal and looking uncomfortable, sitting against the wall by the door, but that was all.

She spoke again while he was still looking at the door.

"You're so young, Draco… to be feeling this way…" she said. It almost sounded like she was pleading with him, but pleading for what, Draco wasn't entirely sure.

"You were going to force me to marry Parkinson!"

"That's different," Narcissa replied in what might have been called a petulant tone had he been her parent instead of her son. "I know Pansy. She's lovely."

"Looks are not the most important thing," he muttered, because she couldn't possibly have meant Pansy's personality.

"Of course they are! Look at the world we live in. Appearance is everything if you are going to succeed. Your Mudblood may be brilliant, but do you think anyone out there cares? She has three things against her: she's not that attractive, she's a woman, and she's Muggle-born. See if she succeeds in life."

Draco didn't bother glaring at his mother this time. She was too self-satisfied right now to care what he said anyway.

But he knew she had to be wrong. No one would care what kind of blood Hermione had except for those with the purest blood themselves. And he couldn't see her working for anyone like that anyway. She was so stubborn and righteous that she would do something to change the way the wizarding world thought about Muggle-borns.

"She is attractive," he insisted. She was. The room seemed brighter when she walked into it. He would do anything to see her smile. Even his Head Boy dorm felt more like home when she was in it. "I think you would like Hermione if you got to know her."

"You only think so because _you_ are so besotted."

"Yes, but if she were a pure-blood, you would like her."

"I doubt it, son."

"You're just saying that to disagree," he accused. Her silence told him he was right. "She came with me once, to visit you. Soon after you were attacked."

"Out of the goodness of her heart? Or an attempt to murder me at my most vulnerable?"

"_Gah!_" Draco uttered in frustration. "She only came because I wanted her to come. I had to promise her a favor for later in return!" And what a favor… that was the first night she ever slept in his bed. "She was afraid of you when you were unconscious!"

"Smart girl." Narcissa didn't bother asking why Hermione hadn't come this time, but trying to play nice with her son, she asked, "What is she doing while you are here?"

Draco's face fell immediately.

"She's in school." He paused for a moment, deciding whether to tell the whole story. "But… she hasn't been doing very well lately, actually. I didn't want to leave her by herself, but she insisted you and I have our time together before you officially met her." He stared into space, wondering how Hermione was faring without him. Would it be arrogant of him to assume she was worse and couldn't bear to be parted? "I told Ginny Weasley to look after her."

"A Weasley too!" Narcissa cried. Draco's eyes narrowed, but when her lips turned up in a tentative smile, he was astonished to realize that she was joking.

"No," he disagreed, shaking his head lightly. "Just a Granger." A small smile appeared on his lips, but his eyes were somewhat sorrowful.

Narcissa couldn't believe the change in Draco. He had always been his father's son, afraid to show weakness by being loving. As if love was weak! But some time spent with this girl—a _Mudblood_—and he had changed the whole way he looked at the world. He wasn't afraid to show his true emotions; he didn't hide them anymore. Well, not as much as he used to—like it would be unforgivable for someone to see his genuine happiness. If only Pansy had been the one to bring this out in Draco; Narcissa would have accepted it immediately. But no… a Mudblood.

She probably had him under Amortensia… or Imperius! No, the girl was Gryffindor and much too honorable for that.

Narcissa was partially afraid that Draco hadn't just found the good person inside of him—but that he was a completely new Draco. Someone she didn't know at all.

Draco watched his mother battle within herself. When she lifted her eyes to his, he felt as if the battle was nearly won in his favor. Eventually she was going to accept that he loved Hermione and he wouldn't marry Pansy. He could see the indecision in her eyes.

"Draco…" He waited for the last punch, steeled himself to control his anger. "How could you possibly feel this way about her? You've known Pansy all your life… and Hermione Granger? You mustn't have known her long." It took a moment for Draco to realize that her issue this time was with time and not blood. She was just trying to understand.

"No, I haven't known her that long. The day you were attacked… we became… if not exactly friends, then allies. The next weekend I brought her with me to see you, and I knew then that I wanted to know her better.

"But those first two weeks were strange. I felt an attraction towards her I had never felt towards anyone else before. I tried to reject it at first… but… I couldn't. I had to have her, and not just physically…_emotionally_. I wanted to be the one she dreamed of, the one she went to for comfort, the one she chose over Potter and Weasley. I thought I just wanted to undermine Potter's little gang." He blinked and looked at Narcissa, remembering suddenly that he was not alone. "No…It was just her. I don't even care about Potter or Weasley anymore. It is just her."

Draco was startled by his depth of feeling. He had never analyzed the beginning of his relationship with Hermione. He'd thought of it a few times, but the words to describe what he had felt those days had never been available to him.

He looked at his mother, who was pale with shock. She swallowed audibly—it would have been annoying if not for her grave, wide-eyed gaze.

"You _do_ love her—don't you?" she asked in amazement.

There were so many ways to answer that.

_With every part of my existence._

_More than life itself._

_So much that I'd jump off the Astronomy Tower if she asked me to._

He decided that nothing would ever be able to describe his love for Hermione Granger. So he said instead:

"_Yes_. And it scares the hell out of me."

Narcissa's reply was perplexed and soft, soothing and comforting. "Why should that scare you? Because it is weak to show this much of yourself to someone?"

Draco stared at her in confusion for a moment. He tried to figure out what she'd said and forgot what he was going to say.

He _had_ shown her a different Draco Malfoy than she had ever seen. Than anyone had ever seen. In dawning horror, he realized that he had become disgustingly soft. Weak. That had not been the reason love scared him until now. No, now he had this concept to deal with, that he was not the same as he used to be. That he had _changed,_ and in a terrifying way.

The Mudblood thing was nothing. He had revealed the truth and found out that he'd been deceived his entire life. Muggle-borns were not physically inferior to pure-bloods, not by principle. So that wasn't a change. It was a revelation.

But this sappy, lovesick act… He hadn't realized he was doing it. He hadn't realized when this change had happened. Draco thought back now, over the past few months and tried to find when he started acting different. After Snape had humiliated Hermione in class—the very same day the curse was taken off of her? After the first night he and Hermione had made love?

When had he started thinking of it as making love? Draco was horrified to discover that he couldn't uncover an answer. All of these events had made him open up a little more—a gradual change—until he'd changed enough for someone to finally notice.

What was he going to do about this?

"Draco?"

"No, Mum," he answered slowly. He tried to mask his expression, but his epiphany made it harder than it used to be. "I'm not afraid of appearing weak. Not exactly." Not until now. His eyes widened slightly in horror. He was talking about _feelings_ with his _mother_. "Look at me!" he spat suddenly. "I'm a bloody nancy! When has any Malfoy ever admitted he was afraid? I was taught better than this!"

"Draco. Did you ever think that maybe the way you act around this—around Granger, is who you really are?"

"Of course not," he snorted. After a moment he admitted, "I've changed, haven't I?"

"Is it such a terrible thing?"

Draco thought about it. He loved Hermione and she loved him.

But did she only love _this_ version of him? If he reverted back to normal, would she despise him? Leave him? Except, however he acted around her happened naturally. It wasn't a conscious decision to be kind to her, or to pull down all the barriers that usually kept people out. And Hermione's was the only opinion that mattered to him. It sort of seemed like his mother approved of the new Draco too.

Lucius never would have, though. Lucius might have Crucio'd Draco for even thinking this way.

Good thing he was dead then.

"No, it isn't _such_ a terrible thing," he finally amended, and Narcissa smirked to herself. "It's very strong, isn't it?" he mused out loud.

"What is?"

"This _love_ rubbish. Look what it does to people. Look what people would do for it. Insanity." He shook his head in disbelief.

Narcissa had a tiny smile on her lips. She might have been remembering the past with her blue eyes focused on something far away as they were.

"It can be very—powerful, yes. Why do you think it can't be replicated? No spell or potion could ever create love. Not real love, and certainly not true love."

A strange glint appeared in her eyes as she looked at Draco once again. She seemed to be surveying him, as if she could see something inside of him that she hadn't noticed until that moment.

"I think I'm beginning to learn that," he said.

"There are just some things a mother and a Hogwarts professor cannot teach you. We can only show you how to make the best choices and prepare for the life ahead." Her eyes strayed to her hands lying limp in her lap.

"My choice is the best one for me. I _won't_ live without her."

"Yes, I know," she responded wearily. "I can't live your life for you, I know that, but I still want to protect you from the consequences of your mistakes."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "They aren't mistakes and there won't be any consequences."

"You will hurt Pansy."

He had a lot to say to that but he held his tongue, knowing it would upset his mother. She had suddenly become quieter and he wondered if she would like to rest now.

"Are you tired, mother? Would you like to sleep?"

"Yes, I think so." She tried to smile but it took a lot out of her. Draco stood and kissed her on the cheek.

"Do you know when you will be released?" he asked her.

"They just want to keep me until I get my strength back—run a few tests. I don't know. A week or so, perhaps."

Draco's eyes hardened at the thought of his mother returning to the manor, where she wasn't safe.

"I will have a Healer contact me so I can get a place for you to stay. I don't like the thought of you alone in the manor."

The threat on Narcissa's life remained unspoken in the air between them, but spoken or not, it was still a very real threat.

"Thank you, son."

Draco turned towards the door, but before leaving he whispered loud enough for Narcissa to hear, "I love you, Mum." Then he coughed and pretended he'd never said it. "Do get well quickly."

But even Narcissa—whose eyes were wide in shock—could hear his real intention in his words. For the first time in his life, he had told her how much he cared for her.

* * *

From his position by the door, he had heard Narcissa and Draco's conversation with absolute disgust. Of course, Draco didn't know that he was there at all, and he was faintly surprised that Narcissa hadn't enlightened him to their trespasser's presence. And she'd allowed the boy to reveal _so much_.

He could use this. He could use all of this.

The idiot boy was the embarrassment to the Malfoy name, not his father. His father had tried to raise him correctly, teach him what was important and what wasn't. The stupid boy hadn't learned anything.

He had watched as Draco struggled with the revelation of how weak he appeared now. But he wouldn't have to worry about that long. His weakness would be taken care of in due time, and he would learn how to put the mask back into position—and how to seal that Malfoy heart into a box—before any irreparable damage took place.

As soon as Draco left, Narcissa had turned her head to stare at him frightfully. Her smooth cheeks were paler than parchment; her eyes were wide with fear. Once, she had been beautiful to him, but her fear…

_That_ was lovely.

He pulled off his invisibility cloak and stepped closer to the bed.

"Please," she begged him. How he loved to hear the stupid bint beg! "Please don't hurt them!"

"Don't worry about Draco, _dear_. When I'm through with his slut, he'll wish he'd never laid eyes on her before."

She shivered and began to protest, but the only thing he could see was the Mudblood's blank, staring eyes as he spilled her repulsive blood all over Draco Malfoy's bed.

A gift. So that the Malfoy heir would never again forget what was most important.

* * *

_Reviews welcome and appreciated! I've already started typing up chapter four but I'm spacing out my updates so that I don't post all the chapters I've already written and you're left waiting while I write more. Anyway, quick updates not guaranteed, but I will try!_


	4. Living

_April 22, 2008  
__Disclaimer: See chapter one. Not mine, no money.  
__Author's Notes: I apologize for the very long wait between updates. Real Life decided to beat me with bricks. I've had to deal with the death of a friend who was only seventeen and a friend's dad within three days of each other. Besides that, school decided to beat me with bricks too, and I've been chillaxing with my good friend procrastination. Thank you to my beta _Lyndsie Fenele. _Any mistakes are from my own fiddling after I got the chapter back. Here it is though, finally. Read and enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Living**

Once Hermione had calmed down enough to really let the news sink in, Madam Pomfrey insisted that she do an exam on her right then.

"Three months without seeing a Healer! I'm surprised nothing has happened to you yet!"

Hermione lay ashamed as the medi-witch checked her stomach—Hermione refused to think of it as a _baby_—and turned her head away from Ginny's probing eyes. She couldn't possibly meet them and their pity. The Weasley temper was much preferable to any form of pity.

Hermione pitied herself enough as it was. She didn't listen to Madam Pomfrey's commentary about what she was doing or how Hermione or the baby fared. She didn't care. She wished she'd never found out she was pregnant. As she had told Ginny earlier, it would hurt less in the present to be so oblivious. Later—well, she could always deal with later when it arrived.

Finally Madam Pomfrey pulled Hermione's robes back down to cover her stomach, and Hermione, with no awareness of what had been done to her, sat up slowly. Already she felt like she'd aged thirty years. She could never just be an eighteen-year-old girl again. She could never worry over trivial thinks like _school_ and exams_._ Not when she had a whole other life to care for. At eighteen! She was pregnant! And with Draco Malfoy's baby, of all people!

Her plan had been to wait a few years, of course. But she would never have those few years now. In less than six months she would have a baby to care for.

And most horrible of all, she would probably be alone in that regard.

"Come on, Hermione," Hermione faintly heard Ginny say. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'll make sure she takes her potions. You won't see us again until her appointment."

"I should hope not! But if anything feels wrong, Miss Granger, _please_ don't hesitate to see me."

"Feels wrong?" she repeated dazedly, trying to turn and ask Madam Pomfrey what she meant, because of course something was wrong: she was only eighteen and she was having a baby. Not just that, but the father probably wouldn't want her anymore when he found out.

"Don't worry about it," Ginny said. "Let's get you back to your rooms. Draco should be back soon, it's nearly dinner time."

Dear God. Hermione couldn't face him now. Not knowing what she now knew. Even if he couldn't tell physically that she was pregnant, she was sure he would be able to read it on her face. How could she act normal around him? She didn't think she could, and then he'd find out.

"Hermione."

And then he'd leave her.

"Hermione, I don't know the password."

"Stupid Lion." Draco had come up with it. Hermione had never felt more stupid than she did right now. All that intellect and she'd failed at something so simple.

"Sometimes it isn't simple," Ginny sighed. Hermione stared at her. "You're talking out loud." The older girl blinked. She hadn't realized. Ginny seemed concerned, but what did concern matter? It couldn't change time or take it all away.

"How can it not be simple?" Hermione finally said, her voice hard. "A week later I was brewing a potion. A condom at least…!"

Ginny grabbed her hand and placed it on the slab of wood that acted as the entrance to the Head Girl's room. She didn't reply, though Hermione waited for her to. The door opened at the occupant's touch and Ginny pulled Hermione over to the bed.

"How could you possibly have thought his would happen? You couldn't know, and neither of you were thinking. That's all there is to it."

Angry tears brightened Hermione's eyes as she hissed, "You think I deserve this?"

"No, Hermione! Can't you see that there might be a reason for it?"

"You're right! It's a sign! I've been waiting for something to happen, to show me I was wrong… and here it is," Hermione murmured dejectedly.

"Maybe this is exactly the incentive Malfoy needs to break off his engagement with Parkinson!" Ginny exclaimed pleadingly. She didn't smile because there still wasn't anything to smile about.

"No. this is exactly the incentive Draco needs to break off his relationship with _me_."

Ginny couldn't believe what Hermione was saying. When had she become so cynical? How could someone so bright—in two senses of the word—be so dim?

Hermione stretched out onto the bed, lying on her stomach. Her back rose and fell unevenly, and Ginny realized with a shock that she was crying. Until this point, Hermione had been in shock herself. She _needed_ to face reality, no matter how much it hurt or how much she wished for the opposite.

Ginny placed the potions Madam Pomfrey had handed her on Hermione's bedside table and settled next to her friend until they were lying side by side. She rubbed Hermione's back soothingly as the older girl sobbed louder. Hearing her suffer like this made tears form in her own brown eyes, and once the moisture became too much for her to bear, they fell down her face and into Hermione's hair.

"I'm _so_ sorry."

Hermione moaned something unintelligible, but Ginny understood her perfectly.

* * *

Another hour had passed and, in that time, the girls hadn't moved much at all. Hermione had made sure that the door leading to the bathroom Hermione and Draco shared was ajar so that Draco could let himself in when he got back from St. Mungo's.

Now she and Ginny lay together in Hermione's bed, under the scarlet duvet. As the older girl hugged the younger, Ginny stroked her wild hair. Neither had spoken for over half an hour and Hermione preferred it that way.

The minutes passed and Hermione thought her heart's beats grew louder with each second lost to her. She tried to think of what to say to Draco to sound normal but she couldn't even remember normal anymore. She realized that the fears that had dominated her life had made her miss the time that passed. She had been so consumed in her worry that she didn't even realize that she had missed three menstruation cycles. What had she done with that time?

"Ginny?" Hermione uttered, breaking the tense silence.

"Hm?"

"I _have_ been out of it, haven't I?" she asked worriedly.

For one extended second, Ginny didn't speak. "Yes, you have. It's been so hard to talk to you because most of the time you aren't even listening."

Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry. It's just that—"

"No, I understand."

Hermione wished she could explain, because, really, Ginny only thought she understood. Hermione wondered if she assumed that she was so distracted because of some internal mechanism that had to do with the pregnancy. And of course that wasn't it. Her worries, as always, had consumed her more than her own health.

"And Ginny?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Have you and Harry ever…"

Ginny's response was flustered and immediate. "No, of course not." But Hermione didn't say anything so she went on awkwardly. "I've…you know—wanted to, but Harry's such a gentleman. He wouldn't ask that of me and I can't ask that of him."

Had Ginny reconsidered sleeping with Harry now? Now that she had witnessed the consequences of such risqué actions first hand? Did she think Draco wasn't a gentleman because he hadn't refused her? Did she think any less of Hermione herself?

Just then, Hermione heard the sound of the portrait hole downstairs being closed with a slam.

Draco was home.

She glanced up at Ginny, whose eyes were watching her.

"Do you want me to leave?" Ginny asked.

"Not yet," Hermione whispered back. "Just… don't say anything?" she enquired, though the red-haired girl looked about to protest. "Please? Not yet."

"Fine," Ginny conceded even though Hermione could tell it was against her better judgment.

When someone knocked on her bathroom door, Hermione disentangled herself from her friend and both girls sat up.

"Hermione?"

She saw him enter the room and her world brightened considerably. His platinum hair glittered like her sun; his icy, pale eyes were her sky. She wasn't aware that she had uttered his name in what sounded like despair, or that she had left the bed to reach him, but as soon as her arms were around him and her face was buried in his shoulder, she felt like everything was normal and her world had never shattered. He was her world and nothing would change that: not if he left her and married Parkinson, not if she perished from the Earth.

"What's wrong? What happened to her? I thought I told you to take care of her!" Draco roared at Ginny in alarm. Hermione answered before she could even open her mouth.

"Nothing happened! I just didn't realize I would miss you so much!" It was only half true: something most certainly _had_ happened, of course, but for the other she was totally truthful. She had missed him terribly, especially after visiting Madam Pomfrey.

And thinking of Madam Pomfrey, Hermione jumped away from Draco just as he started to rub circles on her back, as if he would be able to feel the baby by holding her so closely.

"I'm sorry," she said, staring at the floor. "I didn't mean to overreact."

"It's fine," Draco said smoothly. He would have teased her with something like, "If that's the way you overreact, you may do it whenever you want," but now that he knew how much he had changed over the months, he was more aware of where he and Hermione were and who was around them.

"I'm going to go, Hermione," Ginny said, climbing out of the bed. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted the other girl to leave just yet, but Ginny had already rushed out the door.

Damn. Now what was she going to do?

Hermione knew that Draco was watching her stare at the door; she drummed her fingertips together in agitation. Finally the silence became too much for her overwrought nerves and she spoke.

"How is your mother?"

Draco also shook himself out of the stupor of his worried thoughts. "She's alive. A bit thinner than I would hope for, but fine nonetheless." His voice had a slightly relieved edge that gladdened Hermione a bit.

But thoughts of Draco's mother always led the tricky cycle back to thoughts of Lucius Malfoy.

"Does she remember who attacked her?" she asked, fervently hoping for a positive answer, but dreading that answer all the same.

"No. But she said it wasn't my father," Draco replied, looking slightly animated at the memory.

That piece of news should have made her happy. Hermione couldn't help but be cynical, though.

"If she doesn't remember, how could she be certain it wasn't your father?"

"Because my father is dead, Hermione," Draco snapped. Stricken, Hermione turned away from Draco's fierce eyes—eyes she hadn't been on the receiving end of in a long time—and tried to blink away stupid tears.

She felt Draco's hands slide down her arms and then wrap around her waist, hugging her from behind. Despite her hurt, she couldn't help but revel in his closeness, even though he was so close to touching—and thus, discovering—her secret.

"I'm… sorry," he murmured with slight difficulty. She noticed how once again he had trouble apologizing. Just like the old Draco Malfoy. "My visit was trying." He sighed against her neck.

"I take it you told her about me?" she uttered quietly, swallowing thickly, and closing her eyes to the feel of his breath on her skin.

"Yes."

"And she was… displeased."

"To say the least."

"I would understand if—now that your mum is awake—if you wanted to end things with me," she said so quietly, so dejectedly, that Draco thought he must have heard wrong.

"I—_what?_"

"I know she would never approve and… she _expects_ you to marry Parkinson…"

Draco spun Hermione around to face him, his expression livid, surprising her with his anger. "_You're wrong._ My mum _will_ come around eventually, and if she never does, I don't care. And as for Pansy, I won't—wait. How do you know about that?"

Hermione gaped at him for a long time. She'd been careless with her words and now he knew that she was aware of his engagement. Because he'd never told her.

_"Hermione."_

"I—I overheard you. Telling Zabini. I didn't _mean_ to—" Draco turned away form her, giving the wall the ugliest look of disgust. Hermione did not have the courage to make him look at her again. "But I was in the corridor and I heard voices, so I hid."

"Because that's the _natural_ reaction. You hear voices so you hide."

"No! Because—because it was _you!_ That weekend we'd told each other our secrets and then I made a fool of myself in front of you that night… _singing_ and whatnot. I—I was confused. About you and how you made me feel. Because I liked what I felt when I was around you, but, even though we'd made that truce, I wasn't _supposed_ to like you doing that.

"At any rate, I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but you should have told me before we began this—this relationship!"

Draco turned so fast that Hermione nearly tripped over her own feet backing away. He towered over her, exceptionally angry, frightening her in a way that he hadn't in months.

"Why? So you would think I was screwing with you? Hermione Granger, someone to play with, then break when I married Pansy Parkinson? No. I thought to keep that to myself, so that maybe I could forget about it. But you, if you knew, you would never be able to forget it, because you would always wonder if I was sincere. If it wasn't all just a joke."

"But I have known! For months! Before you ever asked me to go to St. Mungo's with you, and I'm still here, aren't I?"

Draco didn't step away, but his face softened considerably.

"That you are. Thank Merlin for it, though I may never understand why you stayed."

"Because," she replied with uncertainty. "You were already starting to make me feel like I never had before. I didn't understand it yet, but I had to know why you affected me like you did so soon."

Draco reached for her and she willingly stepped into his embrace. They stood like that for moments that seemed like lifetimes, neither one eager to part. Hermione pulled away first and even then she grabbed his hands in compensation.

"Come to bed," she murmured. He did not object. They climbed into Hermione's bed, pulling each other's school robes off as they moved.

Hermione glanced down at herself when she thought Draco wasn't looking. Her stomach did look different, not round, not obvious. Slightly pudgy, maybe, but no, not too obvious. She swallowed the bile that rose to her throat and forcefully blinked more tears away. She and Draco lay together under the scarlet duvet, Draco's arm around Hermione's waist, her finger writing meaningless words on his pale skin.

When Draco sighed in contentment, she looked up into his face and found him staring at her. She buried her face into the smooth planes of his chest, trying to make her haunting thoughts go away.

Tomorrow she would have to visit Professor Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey may have Healer-patient confidentiality, but this was definitely something the Headmaster needed to know. Especially from his Head Girl's own mouth.

And it occurred to her that she might want to visit Narcissa Malfoy sometime. Alone. It seemed right to tell his mother; it was indirectly her fault this had happened. Not that Hermione wanted to blame her. She knew exactly where the blame lay for the pregnancy: within herself. She couldn't explain it, but since Narcissa was the only one Draco had left to care for him, it seemed important that she knew too.

Because if Hermione ever became the one to break it off with Draco, someone he would actually speak to afterwards should be available to tell him he had a child.

The twisted logic made sense in her distressed mind, but thinking of confessions and break ups made her heart pound uncomfortably. Draco sensed her unease.

"Hermione?"

"I need you so much," she whispered. He stared at her for one hard moment, his eyebrows knit together as he tried to discover the reason for her melancholy mood. He hugged her tighter to his chest and kissed her slowly but thoroughly.

"I need you too," he replied in a rough voice.

As he continued to kiss her again—probably hoping to make her forget any troubling thoughts—Hermione decided that his need for her could never compare to her need for him at that moment. And, she concluded, it would only get worse.

* * *

Professor Dumbledore eyed Hermione curiously over his desk as she fidgeted under his smile. As soon as dawn had broken, Hermione had climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Draco as she did so, downed one of her potions, and headed out of the portrait hole to look for the Headmaster's office. Once she'd found the stone gargoyle that hid the entrance, she'd remembered that she didn't know the password and panicked at the thought of putting off her chat until later.

But just then, the gargoyle had jumped aside to reveal Professor Dumbledore himself, who looked as surprised to see Hermione as she did to see him.

"You're up early on a Saturday morning, Miss Granger." And sensing her urgency, he'd invited her up to his office and turned right back around.

Now he waited silently and Hermione didn't know how to begin. His kind smile made her feel like she had betrayed him. She felt disgustingly dirty for fouling the prestigious school with her moral filth. He didn't push her to begin but waited patiently.

"Professor, you know that Draco Malfoy and I are…close, I presume?" she finally said uncomfortably.

He smiled fondly, looking a bit wistful and answered, "Indeed. I do."

Hermione scowled to herself. How could he not know? If there was anyone to blame for this situation it would be Dumbledore and not Narcissa Malfoy, she realized. It had been he who preached inter-house unity and changed all the rules, making Hermione and Draco, as Head Girl and Boy, share a common room, their dormitories not really connected to any house. What did Dumbledore think would happen? He wanted them to be friends—and they had become friends—but really! They were only a couple of hormonal teenagers given living quarters independent of any chaperone… What did the Headmaster _really_ think would happen?

"I feel like I've betrayed you, Headmaster," Hermione whispered, her face crumpling. Dumbledore's smile faded and he immediately became more serious.

"You, Miss Granger?"

"Draco and I…we've done something."

"You make it seem like you've committed a murder!" he exclaimed jokingly.

Hermione winced. She couldn't think about the implications of that now.

"Sir, yesterday I found out that I was pregnant." Her face flushed the color of the phoenix on the perch by the door behind her. So ashamed of what she'd confessed to, Hermione refused to meet Dumbledore's eyes. She did not want to see his anger. She couldn't live through his disappointment.

But he didn't say anything for several moments.

"Does Mr. Malfoy know you carry his child?"

Hermione licked her lips and stared at a stone on the wall to her left. She tried to compose herself enough to speak, afraid that if she attempted speech she would break down.

"No, sir."

"And do you plan to keep it?"

She risked a quick glance at his eyes and found no trace of disgust or betrayal. His face was somber and old beyond imagining. She always forgot exactly how old he really was. Hermione thought about his question as she stared at her stone again. Did she want to keep the baby? She mentally shuddered just thinking the word.

Only one thing was certain. At eighteen years old, she had never planned to have a baby. Never wanted one at this age. This decision would change her life, definitely, but could it possibly ruin it? A baby could cause Draco to run straight to Pansy's pug arms.

Even if she lost Draco by the end of this ordeal, wouldn't she want a piece of him to keep for herself? But wouldn't it hurt to look into the face of a child that looked like its father? Would the hurt be worth it?

"It's an enormous decision, Miss Granger. You do not need to know your mind completely at this time."

Meeting his honest, concerned eyes was difficult, but Hermione managed to keep eye contact.

"I think I've always known the answer, Professor."

He nodded but did not ask her what she chose.

"A child can be quite a redeeming thing, you know," he said sagely.

She smiled tightly. She didn't have a clue what he meant, or how that could be so.

"Why did you come here this morning?" Dumbledore asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

"I felt obligated to tell you. This is your school, sir, and I didn't want to keep a secret this colossal from you." Hermione lowered her eyes and continued quietly, reluctantly, "I've read in _Hogwarts: A History_ about girls kicked out of Hogwarts for becoming pregnant, girls who lost their Prefect status…or Head Girl badge."

"I see." She didn't know if that was a good "I see" or a bad one. "You feared expulsion or loss of titles."

Hermione didn't bother to nod.

"I'm not going to expel you, Miss Granger."

Her eyes snapped up to his face, but his smile was slight and he still maintained his kind expression.

"Why not?" she demanded. "I've broken Hogwarts rules, sir! I won't be punished at all?" Her disbelief was evident.

"I won't expel you, but I do regret that I should take away your Head Girl badge. It wouldn't be…appropriate, under the circumstances."

Nodding mutely, relief coursed through Hermione as she marveled at the thought that she wasn't being kicked out of school. But as her affliction became more obvious, would she not rather be somewhere else? Somewhere that people wouldn't be able to find out? Where Draco could never guess?

"I will have to think of a reason for you to stay in the Head dormitory, I daresay."

"I get to keep my room?" she asked, bewildered, her head spinning so fast she couldn't distinguish up from down.

"I think that would be best. Again, under the circumstances."

Of course. Draco had impregnated one girl sleeping only feet away from him, down the hall. It wouldn't do to tempt fate by placing another girl in the same room, when she, Hermione, would have to go back to the Gryffindor dormitory. That wouldn't do at all.

Hermione tried to force away the tears of relief that stung her eyes. Dumbledore gave her more than she could ever hope to receive in this situation. She had thought she would be homeless—because her parents certainly wouldn't be able to forgive her for this—with no formal Muggle education, nor a complete wizarding one.

"What will I do until graduation, sir? Must everyone look at me…and—know?"

"You wish to conceal the fact that you are pregnant?"

"Yes, sir. If it is possible."

"From everyone who sees you," he mused.

Hermione paused doubtfully. "Well…not everyone. Ginny Weasley knows, and Madam Pomfrey must. And once I tell my parents…" she swallowed thickly at the thought.

"A Fidelius Charm may work. Though that is highly dangerous for both you and your baby should something happen. A Healer wouldn't be able to see—"

"Is it possible, sir? To use the charm to hide a living being inside another one?" It sounded absurd when she said it like that. Like an alien parasite was feeding off of her.

"I'm sure it is possible. To my knowledge, it has never been done before. I don't think it would hurt you to try it." He looked thoughtful for a moment longer and then he smiled at Hermione. "But we still have some time yet before any magical concealment is necessary."

That sounded like Hermione's chance to leave. She was starting to feel antsy talking about the baby this much. She still didn't want to believe this was happening.

"Thank you for everything, Professor. I didn't know what I was going to do," she said as she stood from her chair and stared at her fidgeting fingers.

"Thank _you_, Miss Granger, for coming to me with the truth. That shows integrity." As if she cared. She was already on a slippery slope to Hell that no amount of integrity could save her from.

But before she could reach the door, Dumbledore called to her again.

"I think it unwise to keep Mr. Malfoy from knowing he is to have a child, and I advise you to tell him as soon as possible."

Hermione's mouth went dry.

"Yes, sir."

"And Miss Granger?"

"Sir?"

"I hear pregnancy should be an exciting time for expecting mothers. Do try to relax and enjoy yourself. It is the least you can do for your well-being."

"Sir? Pardon my impudence, but why would you tell me such a thing? I'm barely of age and still in school. I should have been expelled from Hogwarts at the least." She was bewildered. What she had expected him to do, he hadn't done. She'd proven herself to be an unfit Head Girl and role model and he was still being kind to her. Telling her to _enjoy_ her misbegotten pregnancy, in fact!

"I'm sure you know that I believe in second chances? I also believe that this baby is yours."

Wasn't it enough that she had tried to do the right thing when she found out she was pregnant? What was it that she needed a second chance for?

"My second chance for what? Sir."

"_To live_. I've watched you, Miss Granger, and if you refuse to live for the sake of your own life, live for your child's."

For a minute Hermione couldn't breathe. This is what she had realized earlier. In the face of her fears, she'd forgotten to live, and everyone had noticed except for her.

"Having a child is not the worse thing that could happen to you," he continued. "I understand you are frightened."

And after a moment's consideration, Hermione knew he was right. Everything else she feared—Lucius Malfoy, losing Draco—was worse than the possibility of raising Draco's child. Why did she have to stop living just because she was afraid? Plenty of people had been afraid when Voldemort was rising to power, and families like the Weasleys had lived on as normally as they could. If they could survive their fear of Voldemort, then she could certainly survive her own fears. Besides, women gave birth to babies every day. Sometimes those women were teenagers too.

So it had to stop now. She would deal with her fears if and when they came true.

"Yes, Professor," she said, and even managed a genuine smile.

Seeing her change in demeanor, Dumbledore clapped his hands together and smiled like he'd just received sweets.

"Well, then! Why don't we walk down to breakfast together? You must be as famished as I am!"

Hermione preceded him out of the door. Thanks to the potion she'd taken earlier, she could now fathom filling her stomach with food before lunch time rolled along.

But later…later, Hermione would need to steal away to the library. Research was in order.

* * *

_Reviews welcome and appreciated! Chapter five is written but needs to be typed. I post chapters as soon as I receive them from my beta, but even so, quick updates are not guaranteed._


	5. Beginning with the End

_May 26, 2008  
__Author's Note: Here is the newest chapter and it's much earlier than my usual updates. I have to thank _Lyndsie Fenele_ for the uber responsive beta. Any mistakes you may find are my own.  
__Disclaimer: Not mine, no moneyz._

* * *

**Chapter Five: Beginning With The End**

Dumbledore tapped his goblet with his spoon, the clear ringing sound catching everyone's attention. As he rose from his chair, the Great Hall broke out in curious mutters. The Headmaster rarely made speeches during dinner except at feasts.

Harry broke off his conversation with Ginny and looked around at his classmates. Everyone looked confused; it didn't seem like anyone knew what was going on. Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and the Great Hall emptied of all noise. Harry glanced at Hermione who was fidgeting in her seat curiously. She was the only one that he saw who wasn't giving the Headmaster her attention. He glanced at the Slytherin table, wondering if only the Heads knew what was going on. Malfoy had a bored look on his face; he didn't bother to look at Dumbledore either, but he normally disregarded him when speaking, so Harry couldn't tell if he knew what was happening or not.

"I have a quick announcement, and then you may return to your meals," Dumbledore said. "Our current Head Girl has resigned her position due to circumstances that she feels make her unable to perform her duties to the best of her abilities. Taking her place will be Miss Susan Bones. A round of applause, if you will, for the new Head Girl!"

Dumbledore then proceeded to clap his hands, followed by the confused applause of other houses.

Harry didn't know where to look first. All up and down the Gryffindor table people were leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione, but she paid them no mind. She concentrated solely on eating and chewing her food, her face as red as the tureen of tomato soup in front of her.

"What?"

"Hermione, when did this happen?"

"What's Dumbledore talking about, Hermione?"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all spoke at once.

She shook her head wordlessly and shoveled mash potatoes into her mouth.

"How could Dumbledore take the Head Girl position away from you?" Ginny asked out loud and Hermione stared at her strangely.

"That's not what he said, Ginny," Ron corrected. "He said _she_ resigned the position, because she couldn't handle it, or some other rot."

Ginny's eyes widened and her face flushed; she diverted her eyes to her food and stuffed a dinner roll into her mouth. Harry thought he saw recognition in her shocked expression. Ginny must have known something.

Harry looked back at the Slytherin table and Malfoy, wondering what he was thinking then, and saw the blond git staring at the Gryffindor table through narrow eyes.

Correction: he was staring at Hermione's bowed head through narrow eyes. With surprise, Harry realized that Malfoy must not have known that Hermione was giving up her Head Girl position.

Why wouldn't she tell him something that important?

Harry turned his bright green eyes on Hermione, contemplating the situation. The girl was hiding something, he knew that much, but what? Reminded of the past summer and the beginning of term, Harry hoped she wasn't hiding anything too important. She acted similarly to the way she did when she had that curse cast on her. Could it be back? He remembered the day he'd found out about it—that disastrous Potions class in October—it was the same day Snape had removed it. He recalled Hermione crying in relief over its removal.

Snape couldn't have tricked her into only thinking he'd removed the curse, could he?

But there was something different about this Hermione and cursed Hermione. Cursed Hermione had had terribly frightful mood swings and anger tantrums to put a dragon to shame. The girl sitting across from him had just seemed so _defeated _these past few days. As if something she had feared for so long had inevitably come true.

This Hermione also hadn't eaten much for months, although, today she put Ron to shame the way she piled food onto her plate and devoured it as if she could never get enough. He hadn't ever seen her eat this much.

"But what about Malfoy?" Ginny blurted liked spilled potion, in that she looked guilty and apologetic afterwards.

"What about him?" Hermione replied, an odd fierce edge to her voice.

"Is Dumbledore making you move out of the Head dorms?"

Hermione shook her head. "He said everyone's so comfortable where they are that he won't ask us to move and rearrange this late in the game."

Now that was strange. It could hardly be called "late in the game". There were still four months left of school. Harry had a feeling that was not Dumbledore's reason for letting Hermione keep her dorm. It was hardly fair to Susan Bones, who had done nothing wrong to be kept out of them. Plus, Malfoy and Hermione were dating. If Hermione lost the privilege that made her share rooms with him, wouldn't it be more prudent if she didn't stay in those rooms any longer too?

"That was generous of him," Harry heard Ron mutter. He must have been suspicious as well.

Hermione stared aptly over Harry's shoulder, and he turned around to see Malfoy jerking his head towards the doors to the entrance hall. His face expressed that it was not a request. Hermione sighed and put her fork down carefully.

"I'll see you guys later," she said as she stood and headed towards the doors. Harry, Ron, and Ginny watched her progress. Just as she stepped outside, Malfoy left his table and followed her out.

"Y'think she'll be alright?" Harry asked the Weasleys.

"I think so," Ginny responded uncertainly.

"But blimey she ate a lot," Ron said, eyeing Hermione's empty plate with something like awe.

"What do you think her deal is, though?" Harry asked.

"Her deal?" Ginny repeated skeptically.

"Yeah. Why would she give up being Head Girl? She was so excited when she got it. She was perfect for it."

Ron just shrugged.

Gently, Ginny placed her hand on Harry's arm. "We've been worried about her for months. She's just realized what a wreck she's been, and she doesn't think it's fair to the school if she slacked off."

"Do _you_ know what's going on with her, Ginny?" Ron asked shrewdly. Ginny's face reddened but she looked indignant.

"No, I don't. But Hermione is my friend and she tells me things—"

"We're her best friends!" Ron cried.

"But you guys don't have the best track record with her, do you? She obviously thinks there are some things she can't tell you because you wouldn't understand!"

"We would understand!"

"Oh, yeah? Like you understood when you found out she liked Malfoy?"

"I—" Ron faltered, remembering how he'd made a fool of himself and humiliated Hermione.

"I didn't nearly call her a slut when _I_ found out, _Ron_." Something flashed across Ginny's face as she paused in her tirade. Then she collected her steam back and stormed from the table.

Gryffindors all around them stared. "What are you looking at?" Ron snapped at a gaping third year boy, frightening him into dropping his spoon.

Ron leaned in closer to Harry so no one else could hear him.

"I think this calls for a bit of investigating, don't you?"

"Ron," Harry said gently, unsure how to turn Ron off the idea and wishing he would forget it immediately. "I think it'd be best if we wait for Hermione to tell us herself."

"If you don't want to find out then I'll figure it out on my own," Ron grumbled. "Besides, that's what we tried to do last time, but she never told us. Snape made her talk against her will, remember?"

Cold loathing creeped up Harry's spine; he would never forgive the Potions master for humiliating his friend like that.

"Just leave off for a while. She might come around," Harry tried to persuade him.

"Fine then. But if we don't learn anything in the next week, I'm going to ask her myself."

* * *

Draco searched the entrance hall and saw Hermione standing next to the foot of the marble staircase. She looked slightly nervous. Well good! His visit with his mother made him realize how much he'd been slipping, so it was a good thing that he still frightened Hermione.

She heard the echoing sounds of his footsteps but before she could say anything, he grabbed her arm and tugged her towards the nearest door. Once inside, he put up an Imperturbable Charm and locked them in. She had her wand out casting Lumos already.

He looked around at the buckets, mops, and brooms and recognized that he'd pulled her into a broom closet. He decided it was best not to comment on it. In his anger, he didn't care if they were at the bottom of the lake.

"_Explain_," he demanded, seething.

Hermione met his eyes confidently though she still looked slightly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I only talked to Professor Dumbledore this morning."

"That's why you were gone when I woke up?" he asked. He hated how… suspicious he sounded, like he was dependent on her or something, but she was _always_ there when he awoke. Sometimes she'd be downstairs, often in the bathroom, but he'd never had to wake and search for her long.

"Yes. Where did you think I was?"

He ignored the question. He didn't have an answer that wouldn't make her furious, and he was the one who was supposed to be furious here, not her. She had no right to feel anything except fear for him. Adoration. Respect.

Those were the only emotions people should feel for Malfoys.

"So you really wanted to break things off, did you?" he snarled.

_"What? _What are you talking ab—?"

"First, you tell me that I can "end things" with you, _if I want to_; then you tell me that you need me, but you're gone when I wake up; and now I find out with the rest of the damn school that you are not Head Girl anymore! If you wanted to be rid of me so badly, why didn't you say anything earlier? Then we wouldn't have wasted so much goddamn time on something that can never happen anyway!"

By the end of Draco's rant, Hermione's face was chalky in the pale yellow glow of their wands. Her eyes were so wide and bright that Draco swore he could see his reflection in them. The light from her wand tip quivered in such a strange way that it took him a moment to realize that her whole body was shaking.

"What are you saying?" she whispered, nearly indistinct with some emotion Draco was too angry to try to decipher.

"I'm saying that if you want to move out, then move! If you want to leave, then just leave!"

Draco removed the locking charm from the door and threw it open, slamming it behind him. He left Hermione in the dark.

And even though he felt more powerful—more _Malfoy_—than he had in ages and ages, he hated himself completely.

Why the hell did he show so much to her for so long? His mum had been right. This…affair never would have lasted. At least he'd come out of his delusion before he did something he would regret.

Like marry the girl.

He scoffed at the thought but couldn't muster up enough negative thought for the scoff.

He _had_ wanted to travel that path. Not with Pansy. With Hermione. He thought their love would have overcome that of his own parents. He hadn't thought he was alone thinking so. Had she been playing him the whole time? Maybe hoping for his money and his influence? Had she just simply changed her mind? When did she decide that sharing a common room with him was so unbearable that she had to stop being the Head Girl?

So Draco put on his stoic mask and told himself that Hermione Granger could jump off the Astronomy Tower for all he cared. He stalked to the Slytherin common room where she couldn't find him, trying to convince himself he didn't give a hippogriff's arse that she had broken his heart. That none of it mattered.

He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't feel.

* * *

The wind created a torrential whirlwind around her, but she didn't care that her hair would be tangled for the next week, nor that the cold pierced through her robes like sharp knives.

Different kind of knives than the ones she could feel shoved into her chest cavity.

At least she wasn't crying. If another tear fell from her eyes, she thought she would throw herself into the lake. But as it was, it seemed like she'd cried all of the moisture out of her body.

The lake in front of her swirled and frothed like some raving beast. It would be so easy to subject herself to the will of the waters, to let them do with her as they saw befitting of her. But no. She had decided earlier that morning that she was going to live her life. Not just for the sake of the baby she carried, but for herself.

Why then, oh why did the gods hate her so much? Why, on the very day she'd woken up and started over, did her universe have to be ripped to shreds, the snarling monster of waters before her devouring the pieces and drinking her tears? Was she not meant to have happiness anymore?

Her revelation had come too late.

After he'd stormed from the broom closet, Hermione had searched the castle for Draco in a daze. There were just too many rooms, too many secrets, and she couldn't focus on her task. She hadn't found him but his words rang in her head like a broken record.

_If you want to move out, then move! If you want to leave, then just leave! _And repeat.

He hadn't allowed her to explain. He'd assumed that she didn't want him anymore, but he had never been so _wrong_. She did want him—more than her next meal, her next breath—she'd only feared that he would no longer want _her_. All the energy she spent fearing her loss seemed to bring it all about in the end, because he was gone now. He obviously had nothing else to say, or she would have found him already.

But _really_, it was childish of him to take off to sulk!

Hermione's body slumped in defeat. Sulking or not, he did not want to talk to her.

Maybe it was this rock that cursed her. She kept returning to it, hoping that sitting upon it would be meditative, cathartic. That she would receive answers by sitting here. Maybe the large rock could only give the _idea_ of comfort, but the seeker would find none there.

Draco had broken it off with her, just like she knew he would. Nothing could comfort her from that. Obviously he had done it under an incorrect impression, but would he listen to her if she tried to explain? Was it even worth it when he would eventually find out about their baby and leave her again? To try to fix things now would only cause them both more hurt in the future.

Hermione's head pounded with the complexity of her contradictory thoughts. The whistling of the wind only mildly drowned out the ghostly voice that repeated over and over again in her memory. She closed her eyes and tilted her neck up towards the sky, her arms spread out wide beside her. She waited for the rain to come and cleanse her body and spirit.

But she could only hear his voice. _If you want to move out, then move! If you want to leave, then just leave!_ She could only see his face. It was furious, made more chilling by the ominous glow of Lumos. His eyes were dark like steel, his pale brows slanting slashes on his forehead. She had thought she could see pain in that face. The face that did not belong to her, but to Lucius Malfoy. Her Draco did not have expressions like these.

Hermione lowered her arms and opened her eyes. The rain wasn't going to come and the longer she waited for it, the clearer Draco's disturbing face would become. She didn't want that face etched in her head. She wanted to remember the Draco she had grown to love, the one free of Lucius and his terrible influence. Draco. Not Malfoy.

And then she heard a voice drift over on the wind.

"Hermione, we need to talk."

Harry. Reliable, concerned, oblivious Harry. They did need to talk, but what to say? Where to begin?

She jumped down from the rock without sparing it another glance, unsatisfied with its lack of divinity, and wordlessly caught up to Harry who had begun to wander along the edge of the lake. The silence lasted too many moments, all uncomfortable and heavy. Neither one of them wanted to begin.

Harry suddenly spun around and blurted out, "Look, Hermione, why didn't you tell us?"

Hermione wasn't sure what he was talking about so she stared into his emerald eyes and said nothing, wondering what he knew and how much.

"We're your friends. We wouldn't hold it against you!" Harry continued. "Ever since you had that curse on you," Hermione bristled at the mention of the curse, "you've only lied to us and kept secrets. Why can't you tell the truth for once?"

Hermione felt her muscles tense in anger. Her eyes narrowed at Harry but he was just as worked up as she and didn't notice.

"Because, _Harry,_ I know how you and Ron would react." He opened his mouth to argue but she silenced him with a glare. "I've had too much experience trying to tell you important things. When you don't like what I say, you don't talk to me for days. Personally, and maybe it's just me," she added sarcastically, "I like to be on speaking terms with my friends."

She hadn't been yelling but Harry was cowed by her speech all the same.

"But, I don't—"

"Of course you do," Hermione sighed in exasperation, her anger deflating quickly. If she was going to start living again, she was going to be above petty arguments. "When I turned in your Firebolt to McGonagall in third year, you and Ron stopped talking to me. I was only trying to help—I may have been wrong about it all, but I didn't want to see you get hurt—and you punished me for it!"

"But—but what makes you think _I'd_ stop talking to you if you're not acting against what I want to do?" Harry said. Hermione stared at him sadly for a moment, unsure how to answer or react. He sounded very selfish then, and she was so emotionally spent to be explaining.

"Oh, come on, Harry. You know you didn't like it when you found out about Draco and me," she said to the ground.

"No, I didn't, but I'm used to that now." She was surprised he didn't try to deny it.

She looked him in the eyes again. "But if something else happened, you wouldn't talk to me until you got used to it?" she asked, trying to help him see that his logic didn't work.

Harry sighed in frustration and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know. Has something else happened?"

Hermione still wasn't sure what Harry was referring to. She thought Ginny would have kept quiet. Besides, if Harry did know she was pregnant, that most certainly would have been the first thing out of his mouth. It was just too big a deal to _not_ say anything.

"Besides telling Professor Dumbledore I can't be Head Girl anymore? No, there's nothing." She didn't think she was very convincing, and Harry was eyeing her strangely, but whatever suspicion he had, he kept it to himself.

"What did you do that for, anyway?" Harry asked, finally getting to what she hoped was the point of the conversation.

"I couldn't keep up. Haven't you noticed that I'm slipping?"

"You? The Great Hermione Granger?" he said jokingly.

She tried to smile and managed half a grimace instead. "She's not so great anymore."

"Of course she is. It doesn't matter what she does, she's still great." She could tell he was sincere, but she couldn't agree with his sentiment at all. She felt less than great. Less than good. Less than adequate.

Hermione wanted to tell him, "You wouldn't think so if you knew all of it," but that would be admitting that there was more to tell, and she couldn't do that. Not yet.

"Thanks, Harry," she muttered.

"Where is Malfoy anyway? You're usually not far from one another." Harry didn't look at her when he said it; in fact, he looked faintly uncomfortable. Hermione also looked away, towards the lake, wishing again that she could jump into its depths.

"I—I don't know," she said emotionlessly. Her voice was defeated, and her expression suddenly changed to match. "I…I think he broke up with m-me."

"Bro—!" Hermione's face crumpled then and she felt her body being pulled toward Harry, wrapped in his embrace. She didn't care that her stomach was flush against his body, that her true distress was so close to his touch, his discovery. She just let him hold her and comfort her, wishing he was Draco instead and envying Ginny for being so lucky. Why couldn't plain, unremarkable Hermione Granger have a normal relationship too?

"He thinks I gave up my position so I could move out of the Head dorms. To get away from him," she cried into his shoulder.

"But he was wrong! Wasn't he?"

"He wouldn't listen!"

Hermione wanted to tell Harry not to say anything about it to Ginny—she could hear the "I told you so" already—but she didn't think he would keep it from his girlfriend anyway.

So for now, she took comfort in his nearness. She wasn't sure what else she could take comfort in.

* * *

_Quick updates not guaranteed but I'll try my hardest. All I have to do is type, type, type chapter 6 as it's already written, but school is winding down to a close so that means lots of homework, projects, and exams. So. See you in chapter 6. Review if you so choose. It makes me uber happy and inclined to type! Haha._


	6. Giveth and Taketh Away

_July 2, 2008  
Disclaimer: See chapter one, which states it best. A lot of this isn't mine and I'm not getting money for it. Hm.  
Author's Note: Thanks to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing. :D PS: the website is screwing up my formatting. I apologize._

* * *

**Chapter Six: Giveth and Taketh Away**

It had been two weeks since Ginny had taken Hermione to the Hospital Wing and they had found out she was pregnant. Ginny hadn't spoken to Hermione much at all in that time. She seemed so busy lately; every time Ginny saw her, she was in the library buried under mounds of books. And it seemed like whenever Hermione saw Ginny approaching, she got up and left or turned in another direction.

Ginny hadn't spotted Malfoy at all. It was like he wasn't even at school anymore. He didn't even bother to show up at meals, or if he did, he ate and left before anyone else arrived. Not that Ginny particularly needed or even wanted to see Malfoy. She had promised Hermione that she wouldn't tell him about the pregnancy and she had no other reason to talk to him besides giving him a piece of her mind. But she'd promised.

There were rumors all over the school explaining why Hermione had given up being Head Girl and why Susan Bones hadn't been allowed to move into the Head dorms. Ginny had seen some of the nastier Slytherins mutter some of the nastier rumors in front of Hermione as she walked through the corridors or entered and left meals. She seemed to be handling them pretty well—she hadn't broken down or hexed anyone in public—but Ginny couldn't be sure.

She was worried about Hermione, but she didn't really know why. The older girl seemed fine. She arrived at every meal and ate heartily—she'd even gained back some weight. Her pregnancy wasn't evident yet. Hermione was just busy with schoolwork, was all.

Harry stroked Ginny's hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck gently, sighing in exasperation.

"I really have to read this, Harry," she said.

"No one's stopping you," he mouthed on the shell of her ear.

They were sitting under a tree on the grounds. It was an unusually warm day for March and Harry had dragged her outside to enjoy it. Unfortunately, Ginny still had homework to do, so she'd taken it outside with her. Harry, meanwhile, had other plans.

His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her towards him so that her back leaned against his chest.

Ginny looked up from her book, protesting only slightly. "Harry…"

Her eyes drifted towards a sudden, shiny flash of silver and she saw Malfoy storming out of the castle with his broom thrown over his shoulder. She watched him move closer and then turn towards the Quidditch pitch.

"Wow, he doesn't look happy," she commented lowly. She wondered what had happened to put him in such a foul mood.

Harry looked up from Ginny's neck to see who she spoke of. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Malfoy's disappearing back.

"I wouldn't be either," he said.

Ginny turned her head to look at Harry but his face was nuzzling her neck again.

"Why not?" she asked with some difficulty. Coherent thought was becoming increasingly problematic.

"Well, it wouldn't make me happy thinking my girlfriend broke up with me," he said. His stricken face the next second let Ginny think that this was something he had never meant to reveal.

And like that, her mind was clear again.

_"What_?" She scrambled away from Harry and gave him an infamous Mrs. Weasley glare. "What do you mean?"

Discomfited, Harry replied, "I talked to Hermione a couple weeks ago, you know, when Dumbledore announced the new Head Girl, and apparently Malfoy thinks she gave up the position to move out and break up with him."

Jumping to her feet, Ginny muttered, "That _idiot_!" She started off after Malfoy but Harry grabbed her hand.

"Where are you going?"

"To knock some sense into that prat! Take my books back to the common room, will you?" Then she tugged her hand out of his grasp and made her outraged way to the pitch. How could Malfoy _think_ that? Didn't he know that Hermione's whole world revolved around his fat head? Maybe _he_ was using this as an excuse to dump _her_. How could he _do_ that though?

Malfoy was already in the air when she got there, zooming around the goal posts in mechanical zigzags and circles.

She took in a deep breath and yelled towards the sky, "Hey, Malfoy! Get your arse down here!" The figure on the broom paused and she could see him looking down at her, but he continued on his invisible track through the air.

Ginny pulled out her wand and pointed it at her throat with a muttered Sonorus charm.

"MALFOY!"

The figure in the sky shook violently as if it had nearly been startled right off the broom. Malfoy rushed to Ginny's level like an angry hornet.

_"What the hell do you want?_" he hissed ferociously.

"How can you be such an idiot?" she screamed at him.

He was speechless for a moment, outraged by her words—by her nerve!—and then he sneered. "I'm not an idiot—"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot!" Ginny mocked. "You're a Malfoy. Malfoys aren't idiots! My mistake!" She put her hand on his broom handle and tugged him closer. "You didn't even let her explain!"

His eyes darkened at the mention of Hermione. "I don't want to talk about her."

"I don't give a damn what you want to talk about, Malfoy! And you're going to listen to me!"

"_No._ I have nothing to say. _She_ wanted to leave, not me."

"You stupid Slytherin! You bloody ignorant fool!" Malfoy looked like he was going to explode with all the name calling, but Ginny could not find enough words to voice her frustration. He flexed his hands into fists on his thighs as if he itched to strangle Ginny. Her fists were also clenched tight, wanting to literally knock some sense into him. "Hermione wasn't breaking up with you! Dumbledore took the position away from her and tried to make it sound nice for the rest of the school. If you'd open your eyes, you'd see that she still lives down the hall from you!"

With a strangled, aggravated cry, Ginny spun around to leave, but Malfoy jumped off his broom and grabbed her shoulders, turning her around to face him.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was relatively calm but his expression was deadly. Ginny could tell that his temper and control were on a tight leash and she did not entertain the notion of lying to him for one second.

"Hermione couldn't handle being Head Girl anymore, Dumbledore noticed and suggested he give the title to someone else. He allowed her to stay in her own dorm instead of move. And if you'd have listened to her, you would have known this already! She was afraid you'd leave her, and then you did!"

Malfoy released Ginny as if she was the angry hornet now and she'd stung him. He turned away from her, his hands rubbing his face, but his body language startled her. This was the most discomposed she'd ever seen Draco Malfoy. She'd only ever seen him enraged or in control, two completely opposite reactions to emotions but still so far from the defeat she witnessed now.

"Why was she afraid I'd leave her? What have I done to make her think I would?" he asked. He was the epitome of the normal boyfriend who watched his relationship fall apart and then wondered what had ever happened. Had he been the cause or had she? Was there anything he could do to bring her back? Not the kind of boyfriend Ginny ever thought he could be.

Startled by his sudden humanity or not, Ginny could still feel the simmering of her anger in her blood. He was in this situation because he had let it happen; he'd been a prat and he deserved to feel like one, in her opinion.

"Because! She's—" She caught herself before the damning words fell out and pressed her hands against her mouth. Her eyes darted to his face of their own volition.

Malfoy faced her again when she stumbled. "She's what?"

"I can't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"There's no difference here."

He sighed and scratched his head.

"Well. Why did Dumbledore let her stay in the Head dormitory if she isn't Head Girl anymore?"

Ginny shook her head.  
"You can't tell me that either?" His voice hinted at his impatience. She didn't respond. Malfoy drew his wand and pointed it at the shocked redhead. "There are ways to make you tell me."

Ginny didn't know if he meant an actual spell to pull the truth from her lips or torture, but as soon as he'd drawn his wand her temper had boiled over. She completely snapped.

"Because she's pregnant, you prat! She thought you'd dump her like a moldy loaf of bread if you found out, and Dumbledore thought it was more appropriate if she kept her private rooms with you!" To keep him from impregnating other girls, she didn't say.

But as soon as she'd spoken, Ginny had regretted it. Hermione was going to murder her when she found out. Or worse, go back into her zombie-like depression, living for no one, not even herself.

"_Pregnant_?" Malfoy repeated, his voice cracking.

"Yes," Ginny sighed.

"_Mine_?"

"_Yes, you idiot_. Apparently there is no other candidate."

For a good twenty seconds Ginny thought he was going to explode while he stared at her with wild, wide eyes. Three times he tried to say something but only managed an odd-sounding gurgle.

Ginny watched his next attempt to speak with slight amusement. Even now, she still held the assumption that Malfoy knowing about his baby would bring him and Hermione closer together. Maybe, in time, Hermione would come to thank Ginny for having the nerve to go back on her word and tell him. But that would definitely be in time—right now, Hermione would probably kill her. She didn't want to be anywhere near her when it was revealed that Ginny had spilled her secret.

"But… how?" he finally managed to croak.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well… when a man and a woman—"

"No," he interrupted. Apparently it was too soon for jokes. "_How_ could this happen?"

"It seems as if you were… without protection that first night." She watched him work out in his head how far back that was, and when she saw the startled recognition in his eyes, she began to pity him.

"That long?" he whispered.

"Four whole months," she agreed.

"Almost… halfway over."

Did he sound disappointed to Ginny? Because he'd missed so much of the pregnancy already, or because he was in so deep?

"Why didn't she tell me?" he demanded, reverting back to what Ginny assumed was a more comfortable emotion for him: anger.

"I told you. She thought as soon as you heard she was going to have your baby, you'd run to Parkinson. She wanted to keep you for as long as she could."

"You know about Parkinson too?" he asked suspiciously.

"Only for a couple of weeks. You have no idea how much the thought of losing you bothers her." Ginny's voice had softened slightly, but she glared at him spitefully. It didn't occur to her that she was revealing too much—far more than Hermione would want her to, certainly.

Draco was staring at the castle as if it had just caught fire. "I would never go to Pansy. If I couldn't have Hermione, I would rather be alone."

Ginny was startled by his sincere and open honesty. He had no need to tell her such a thing, but he had anyway, and what's more, Ginny believed him wholeheartedly.

"I told her she needed to talk to you, especially about this. Now you know, but you haven't talked." She hoped he was in the right state of mind to catch her hint, or to follow it, at least. "I'm going back to the castle. Don't screw this up more than you already have, Malfoy," she warned, a real threat in her voice. Her brothers knew that she could wield a wand with the best of them; she hoped Malfoy wouldn't do anything to make her have to demonstrate her skill on him.

So she left him standing there, dazed, his brain dangerously full of haunting, troubling thoughts.

* * *

Draco didn't know what he would have done had he not heard that mocking, hysterical laughter as soon as the Weaslette had left the pitch. His body tensed—he knew that laughter—his broom remained hanging in midair forgotten. When applause accompanied the laughter, he did not turn around to face it.

"Oh, Draco, Draco, _Draco_! I see congratulations are in order!"

Had Pansy not shown up just then, Draco probably would have examined his memories of the last few months with Hermione. Would he be able to find signs that Hermione was pregnant, or that she was keeping the news from him, in hindsight? But he didn't have that time so he composed himself the best he could, even though he assumed that Pansy had already seen the worst of his reaction, and turned around to face her as she approached him with a hateful, maliciously triumphant grin. He decided to play dumb rather than give in to her right away.

"Congratulations for what?"

Pansy's eyes flashed angrily. She stopped clapping when she reached him.

"Don't do that. I heard everything that orange-headed banshee said. You can't act stupid with me."

Her tone put Draco on edge. For once he thought of the danger she represented—one that he and Hermione had dismissed because they'd never noticed its existence.

Pansy Parkinson had everything to lose if Draco didn't marry her. The influence of the Malfoy name and its money could never be hers to command. She would never know the legacy of being a Malfoy and the opportunities that could be opened to her. For years she had tried to capture Draco for herself, but he would elude her once again. Not only would she lose the power she had been so close to obtaining, but Draco would then turn around and give it to a Mudblood. The indignity… the public and private humiliation of that fact…

The thought of it could be enough to push Pansy over the edge. Only, Draco didn't know what she was willing to do to secure her position at Draco's side.

With this new thought in mind, he regarded her with a bit more attention and caution than he had since he and Hermione had gone public with their relationship. He wasn't sure what Pansy was capable of but it couldn't be good.

"Fine," he conceded. "But I can't fathom that your congratulations are sincere."

She scowled at him, a bitter ugly frown. "I never said I was congratulating you, just that there seems to be need of it."

"Then what do you want from me?" he asked impatiently, crossing his arms, hoping she didn't see his anxiety to get away from her soon.

Pansy took a foreboding step closer, a grin flitting onto her features as she extended her hand up to his face. Draco snatched her wrist in midair, gripping it so tightly that her grin flipped into a frown of discomfort.

"_You know what I want from you_," she snapped, twisting her arm out of his hand. "And it's obvious that you won't give it to me without some persuasion."

"I won't give it to you at all."

"You will," she answered confidently, more like a promise than an assurance.

"What makes you so sure?" Draco spoke to her coldly, drawing out her motives while keeping his own intentions hidden.

"Because. Once, Draco Malfoy did nothing for anyone unless he benefited from it as well." He managed to reign in the impatient "_And now?_" that threatened to leave his lips without his permission. "But that Draco Malfoy is gone." His body tensed as yet another person confirmed that he was not the same person he had been at the beginning of the school year. Pansy reached her hand up again and this time he allowed her to touch his cheek and cup his face. "No," she continued. "You gave your soul to an undeserving Mudblood. Now you would do anything for her, wouldn't you?"

He didn't acknowledge her question. His mouth had suddenly gone bone dry.

"Even shove her aside and marry me, if that's what was best for her."

She was mad. He'd thought it briefly earlier but now he knew it to be true. How could Parkinson think that marrying her was best for Hermione? Her expression was smug as she peered into his eyes. She gently traced the contours of his face but he did not let his anger, fear, or bewilderment mar his perfectly stoic mask.

"You do know that that is what's best for her, don't you?" He would have thought she was mocking him if he hadn't been witness to her serious expression or that tone of concern that had nothing at all to do with Hermione or even him.

"No, I don't know that." His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, unable to form coherent words, but he managed it and with enough finesse to appear his normal, unctuous, Malfoy self.

"You should," she said happily as she removed her hand from his face and placed it on his chest, fiddling with the Head Boy badge that he'd pinned over his left breast. "I hold knowledge that the rest of the student body would be dizzy with giddiness to hear. Can you imagine the look on all the lovely Gryffindors' faces when they find out that their Head Girl—oh, excuse me, _ex-_Head Girl—is actually a whore? But don't worry, Draco, I would never taint your reputation by telling everyone that she is carrying _your_ child. I'll just say it's McLaggen's. Or maybe it's one of the Creeveys'? I might not remember exactly which of her conquests is the bastard's father."

Her grin was cat-like in its slyness and childlike in its innocence. Draco hated her more than his father just then. At least Lucius was dead and unable to wreak havoc on those that Draco loved. He would not have been surprised in the slightest if she suddenly announced that _she_ had attacked his mother last September. He couldn't despise her more if she did.

Draco controlled his outward expression: the trembling of his hands as they clenched into fists, the widening of his pale eyes turned dark by his anger, the tightening of his jaw, but he could not stop the blood from draining from his face. Pansy patted his chest blithely and widened the evil twist on her lips.

"I'll let you think about it," she said. She turned to leave but before she'd moved two steps she opened her mouth again. "Oh, and Drakey-poo? Don't wait too long to give me your answer. You never know when nasty rumors might start."

She smirked and soon he was alone.

Draco looked around as if coming out of a dream. His eyes landed on his floating broom and he snatched it out of the air with a scowl.

"God dammit."

He couldn't gather his thoughts in any way that permitted him to process everything he had just learned in the past hour. Ginny Weasley's revelation had given him hope that he could make up with Hermione and take care of her from then on. Not just her, their child also. He wanted both of them so badly that his knees shook at the prospect of his own little family untainted by his father's mistakes. He'd thought he had uncovered that overgrown path that would allow him to keep her forever, and a more legitimate reason not to marry Parkinson.

And now Pansy's proposition. Continue with the betrothal to keep Hermione's secret safe and save her reputation from slander? Draco knew what would happen if Hogwarts knew about the baby. He gathered from what little Ginny had said about it that Potter and Weasley didn't know. He saw how they'd reacted when they learned that he and Hermione were together. The Slytherins would be relentless in their cruelty. The Gryffindors might believe that the baby was Draco's, but the Slytherins would try not to. They would be willing to avenge his reputation if they thought the baby wasn't his. They could hurt her, or at the very least, make her life hell. And her life was already hell as far as he knew. She was pregnant at eighteen and she thought that Draco didn't want her.

If he stayed with Hermione, Draco could be there to protect her from slander and abuse. He would support her. He'd love her. He just didn't know if that would be enough for her. Her friends were important to her even if Draco couldn't care less what Potter and Weasley thought, and she had the horrible disposition of caring what everyone else thought of her too.

But if he didn't make up with her, pretended he didn't know she carried his baby, continued to ignore her, and then married Parkinson, he would save her reputation and her friendship with all her friends. Could she live with that, though? Could he?

Dragging his broom carelessly behind him, Draco headed to the lake in a daze. He didn't realize where his feet had carried him until he was standing in front of that damn rock again. Why did he always end up here? This place never provided the comfort he sought; he didn't know why he thought it would. Nevertheless, he climbed up onto it to let his mind ruminate over everything. The sun beat down on his cheeks, bringing to his skin a red hue that normally wasn't there. At least, not since the day Hermione had left him at the Quidditch pitch, locked in a body bind, to bake in the sun. Soon, his hair was as hot as the rock he sat on. The lake reflected the halcyon sky like an idiot that continued to smile at someone whose temper was close to snapping.

Draco hated good weather when he wasn't in the mood for it.

He remained on the rock with his thoughts for longer than he thought possible. He had never spent so much time meditating before in his life. When he finally hauled himself back up to the castle, the sun had long since set completely and he'd missed dinner by a full hour. No matter. He couldn't bear to be in a room with Hermione and Pansy at the same time. He didn't know how to behave in front of both of them. Instead, he went straight up to his room and sat down at his desk, pulling out a blank sheet of parchment, a quill, and austere black ink.

He wrote ten words and then folded up his short missive, stuffing it inside his desk again. As he lay in bed that night, his head was blissfully empty. He'd used up all his thoughts out on the lake, and now that he'd come to a decision, he refused to think about it at all.

Besides, if his mind roved over the fact that Hermione lay in her bed barely twenty feet away, he would never get to sleep. He needed the oblivion of sleep to keep him thoughtless.

Draco ended up sleeping very little. He rose early, feeling as if he hadn't slept a wink, his body groaning and aching like he'd slept on rocks instead of his comfortable bed. He took his letter to the Owlery where he chose a random school owl to deliver it. Pantalaimon, Hermione's owl, flew down from the rafters for a greeting or a treat but Draco ignored him.

Sunday morning. Was there anywhere he could go where no one could bother him? He couldn't think of any so he just went back to his room to begin some homework. He refused to look up from his books when breakfast time rolled around…and then passed.

In the Great Hall, the post flew in and Pansy Parkinson opened an unsigned note addressed to her. She read the ten elegantly written words and smiled triumphantly, staring at the Gryffindor table. Some say she began to cackle hysterically, but no one really remembered her doing that in the middle of the crowded hall.

She certainly had the right, though. She'd won. The note read:

_We will be married on June twenty-seventh of this year._

And she knew exactly who'd written it.

* * *

_The wedding is June 27th because that's my birthday. :D  
Reviews appreciated! I do have to say that I am in the middle of relocating halfway across the world and I know when I arrive that I will have no internet. So, the next update might be a bit of a ways off, but if you hang in there, I promise that exciting things will happen!_


	7. Insiders

_August 20, 2008  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no monies. See chapter 1 for details.  
Author's Note: Thank you to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing very speedily. Muchas gracias to her. Thank you to all my wonderful, wonderful readers. I love all those names I recognize from reviews and I love the new readers too. I love you all! More complete notes at the bottom.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Insiders**

Ever since she'd found out about the pregnancy, Hermione had holed herself up in the library researching everything she needed to know about it. Magical pregnancies, it turned out, were very similar to Muggle ones, except for an occasional flux of magic as well as hormones in the mother. It worried Hermione that she could be sitting in class and suddenly be unable to perform any magic at all. It hadn't happened yet, and she hoped it wouldn't happen in the future, either. Maybe it would be better if her professors knew about her situation. She would have to talk to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore about it. Dumbledore had opted for discretion for the time being and Hermione had agreed with him until now. Time was not on her side so she was going to prolong telling any unnecessary people for as long as she could.

_Draco is pretty necessary._

He was not an option at all. He had misunderstood her and the situation and had not allowed her to clear it up. She was not going to try to fix something that was inevitably going to break again anyway. Besides, for the past week, Parkinson had been hanging all over him, and while he didn't look pleased about it, he did nothing to discourage her.

Hermione felt as if her heart was being jerked out of her ribcage every time she saw Parkinson whisper in Draco's ear at meals. She probably did it just to gloat, because she always looked up and searched the Great Hall for Hermione and smirked.

Hermione ignored Draco completely. It was too painful to look at him. Just as she had promised herself weeks ago, she wasn't going to cry anymore, and she hadn't. Not even when Ron had searched her out in the library one day to demand what was wrong with her this time, and did he need to wring Draco bloody Malfoy's neck? He was trying to be caring and then to cheer her up, and Hermione had appreciated it immensely even as she lied to him and said nothing was wrong, and of course, she'd tell him if something was. She was sure he didn't believe either of her statements.

But now Hermione had her first appointment with Madam Pomfrey. Hogwarts' resident nurse was going to take her to St. Mungo's to see a maternity Healer. Hermione hadn't been aware that the wizard hospital even had a maternity division, but she didn't complain. She preferred that this business be taken out of the castle anyway. She grabbed the stack of books she'd been reading and carried them cautiously back to the aisle where she'd found them. She glanced around to make sure there was no one else in the aisle or the vicinity. Pulling out her wand, she took off the charm she had placed on the books to conceal the true nature of them. As far as any one else in the library was concerned, she was _very_ interested in the magical properties of pig drool.

Once she was free of the books, she headed to the Headmaster's office, where she would meet Madam Pomfrey to Floo to the hospital. Her hands shook as she gave the gargoyle the password. From the moment the medi-witch had told her the appointment would be at St. Mungo's, Hermione had been planning a way to sneak away from her chaperone to visit Narcissa Malfoy.

She had decided that someday _someone_ would have to tell Draco he had a child. His mum was the only person she could think of that would be on good terms with him for an indefinite amount of time. She knew that Draco cared for his mother far more than maybe Narcissa even knew, and he wouldn't want his relationship with her severed.

Technically though, Hermione didn't know if Narcissa had been released yet, or if she'd be able to shake off Madam Pomfrey. She had been there with Draco once to see her so she knew where her room was and that it would be private. Getting inside might also prove to be problematic, though.

Still going over her tentative plan, Hermione lifted the griffin door knocker and pounded on the Headmaster's office door to indicate her arrival. The door opened of its own accord and she found Professor Dumbledore standing in front of his desk, Madam Pomfrey sitting in a chair in front of him. They spoke together privately until Hermione walked in, when their attention turned to her.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Madam Pomfrey and I were just discussing you." Hermione stepped into the office, glancing around dubiously.

"If you wish to, after we've finished with the maternity Healer, Professor Dumbledore has allowed you to visit your parents."

Startled, Hermione could only stare. She wasn't ready to tell her parents about her baby, but at the same time, a monstrous desire to see her mum sprang up in her heart. She suddenly felt so heavy with her burden. She knew that seeing her mum smile at her again would ease it somewhat. She would be treated like she was five again, so instead of being a girl too young to carry a child, she could be coddled like one.

"Th-thank you, sir," Hermione said sincerely. He nodded back.

She wondered if she should go ahead and ask him if she could visit Narcissa Malfoy while she and Madam Pomfrey were at St. Mungo's. He seemed likely to understand her need to see her. He would also see why it wouldn't be prudent.

She kept her mouth shut instead, and followed Madam Pomfrey into the fireplace, throwing down a handful of the sparkling green Floo powder and calling out her destination into the emerald flames.

* * *

Her opinion of her maternity Healer darkened every time the damn woman opened her mouth. Even Madam Pomfrey—who almost hadn't been allowed into the examination room but fought the Healer until she relented—sat next to the bed with a severe scowl on her face similar to the one she wore when her patients received too many boisterous visitors. Hermione would have laughed if she wasn't so irritated herself. She wondered if Pomfrey was as reminded of Umbridge's sickeningly sweet act as she was.

"Oh goodness, my dear. Such a young age! I trust the father is going to do the right thing by you, isn't he? Young ladies should not participate in naughty acts outside of marriage! You may feel a bit of a tingle now."

As Healer Falconbridge directed a spell at Hermione's bared abdomen, she had the nearly uncontrollable desire to stab her in the eye with a very sharp quill. Deep inside her stomach, she felt a slight uneasiness that redirected her thoughts from her plans of murder.

"That's it," Falconbridge said soothingly. Hermione did not need to be soothed. She needed a noose. "Young ladies also should not _enjoy_ such naughty things. Sexual intercourse is for men. Ladies should lie back and think of England."

Hermione's jaw was sore from holding it clamped closed for so long. She was about to start yelling when Madam Pomfrey probably saw the look on her face and interrupted.

"Healer Falconbridge, we only have limited time. If you could…" Her voice was polite and calm, the complete opposite of what her face said she was feeling.

"Yes! Of course. I'd nearly forgotten Mrs. Granger was still in school. But really, so young, how _could_ I forget?" Ah yes, and there was the Healer's insistence on calling Hermione _Mrs._ Granger because she refused to acknowledge that Hermione was unmarried and pregnant. Falconbridge's voice began to grate on her nerves. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to hear the verdict or not.

"You are not healthy, Mrs. Granger!" Falconbridge admonished as she actually waved a finger in her face like she was a disappointing mother. "And an unhealthy Mrs. Granger is an unhealthy baby!"

"But what about my magic?" Hermione chewed on her lip worriedly. This was her most vital concern.

"Your magic is tied to your hormones, dear, and those begin to settle down around the fourth month, which you are beginning now. The calmer you are, the less likely it is that you will lose your magic."

"But I have classes! I can't suddenly lose my magic in the middle of class!"

Falconbridge's lips tightened at the mention of classes.

"I may have a potion that helps stabilize your magic. The nausea should be diminishing as well. This is also the month that it becomes easier to determine the sex of the child. If you would like to know, I can do a scan right now to see—"

"What if I don't want to keep the baby?" Hermione asked timidly. She stared at the foot of the bed, away from the eyes of the two magical medics.

"Well! Adoption may not be _my_ first choice but it is a completely acceptable—"

"No," Hermione interrupted. "What if I don't want to keep it _now_? Is there a magical equivalent to abortion?"

Falconbridge was stunned speechless. She gawked at Hermione for nearly ten seconds before she sniffed disapprovingly and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about. Children are blessings. Why wouldn't you keep your baby? What would the father think?"

"He doesn't know," came the reply.

Healer Falconbridge nearly fainted on the spot.

* * *

As Hermione and Madam Pomfrey left the appointment, both loaded down with instructions and potions, Hermione wondered how she was going to get away from her chaperone to see Narcissa Malfoy.

The opportunity presented itself as they passed the door leading down the third floor corridor. A young man pushing a trolley laden with vials of colorful potions shoved through the double doors, grumbling to himself distractedly. An idea came to her just then and she surreptitiously took out her wand and pointed it at the cart. The next moment, the young man cried out as he lost the trolley which now flew straight at Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh my!" Pomfrey said as she dodged the cart, but as it crashed into the wall behind her, the vials of potions exploded, drenching Hermione's companion. Light green patches of fuzz appeared on her face where the potion splashed and her skin boiled and erupted in purple warts.

"I apologize, Madam! I'm sorry, I don't know how I could let it slip!" the young man said. "Please, let me take you to the ground floor to get this fixed."

Madam Pomfrey huffed in annoyance and glared at the poor boy. He looked like he wasn't having the best day and Hermione felt a tiny bit of regret that she'd only made it worse. And that she had potentially endangered Madam Pomfrey, who really was a decent woman, but drastic measure needed to be taken if she was going to speak to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Miss Granger, you will wait for me here," the medi-witch said. "If anyone knows what they are doing, this shouldn't take long." She glared at the young man once again as if he was wasting their time. As she left with him, Hermione saw her scratch the patches of green hair on her face.

Hermione allowed a moment or two to feel guilty about what she'd done, and then she took off for the stairs to search for Narcissa's room.

* * *

Narcissa heard the door click open but she ignored it. It could not be her son entering the room, so she didn't have the need to greet the visitor. She kept her eyes fastened on the curtain that surrounded half of her bed. To her right, she could see the door and the supposedly empty chair that sat next to it.

The chair was _supposedly_ empty because it appeared to a casual observer that the chair was not occupied, but Narcissa knew better. If _he _was sitting there, he didn't say a word, but he didn't spend all of his days there, and she didn't know where he went when he was gone.

On her left, the curtain obscured her view of a wall containing a magical window. Her room in the hospital did not allow her to have a normal, logical window, and it was the Healers' philosophy that a bit of sunshine did patients some good.

But the curtain blocked the window from sight, and had since she woke up from her coma three weeks ago. Narcissa was desperate to see beyond the pristine white walls of her prison. The only flash of color in her life entered and left the room in the form of lime green Healers' robes.

"Madam Malfoy?" Narcissa gave her reluctant attention to the Healer holding out a magenta potion to her. She took the flask without speaking and downed the foul-tasting solution routinely. The Healer—Healer Mordecai or something—wove her wand over Narcissa's stick-thin body. She turned away again. Honestly, she didn't see any reason for all this fuss. She felt fine enough and there was no way she was going to gain her strength back by laying in bed all day everyday.

"Everything looks great. You'll be out of here in no time."

Instead of asking when "no time" would be, Narcissa ignored the Healer until she left and continued her previous occupation of staring at the curtain. If she stared long enough, she thought she could see the window through it.

There were books and wizarding magazines laid out on the side table for Narcissa to look at. A week after she'd awakened from the coma, Healer Mordecai had realized that she might suffer from boredom. Narcissa had never touched anything that was left for her perusal. She stared at the stretch of white curtain for hours, refusing to let the Healers to open it for her, refusing to glance towards the door if she could help it. Sometimes _he_ came out and spoke to her, and she replied back in fear of what he'd do if she dared to ignore him like the others. He was her own personal demon; the schizophrenic voice in her head that no one else knew existed. Maybe she had gone mad in the weeks she'd stayed in the hospital. Maybe the Healers knew it and never planned to let her leave.

Maybe this was why she didn't just get out of bed and pull the curtain open herself. She supposed it was her pride, but now she was considering the madness. She wasn't used to doing things for herself. There was always a house elf to do things for her, sometimes before she could demand them to be done.

Besides, she felt like she was _doing_ more if she stared at the curtain rather than looking aimlessly through a window. She didn't know how she reckoned that, but the task of willing the curtain aside with her mind was more fulfilling than letting someone else do it for her, as if she was a child. And using magic would be cheating. She was determined that the blasted curtain would be persuaded to move by her will alone and not her magic.

She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the folds of the curtain, counting them, measuring them with her eyes, when the door clicked open once again, sooner than she had expected it to. This was new. She only saw Healer Mordecai four times a day for meals and a potion every once in a while. Mordecai wasn't supposed to come back until supper. Was it suppertime already?

Her curiosity overcame her stubbornness to ignore the intruder so when she turned her head and found a pale, young, bushy-haired girl there, she was momentarily confounded. She pulled her face into an imperious mask in record time and said, "You have the wrong room." She hoped she was rude enough to scare the confused girl away.

The girl swallowed audibly and replied while closing the door and taking a step closer, "No, actually, I don't."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she stared at the girl, trying to place her. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, her jumper fitting a bit too snug. Her face and arms were round and soft, and there were purple bags under her eyes. Narcissa didn't know how a person could look well fed and gaunt at the same time, but that was her first impression of the girl. There was something about her eyes, or maybe her hair, that was faintly familiar, but Narcissa couldn't place her.

"I didn't really think you would know me," she continued tentatively. "We've only seen each other a couple of times in public… but I know Draco told you about me." Horror filled Narcissa's heart, making it beat with the fear that flooded her mind. Her eyes widened in recognition—not because she remembered the girl from somewhere else, exactly, but because she could guess who she was. Draco's words from a few weeks ago floated to the front of her memory.

_"…She hasn't been doing very well lately, actually. I didn't want to leave her by herself…"_

"Hermione Granger," she said, and the Granger girl nodded.

Suddenly, Narcissa remembered _him_ sitting in the chair by the door. Not that she actually knew he was there, thanks to his invisibility cloak, but if she could believe what he said—and she could—he was never far from her. Narcissa's heart raced in panic. He wanted to hurt Granger to get to Draco. _What in the name of Circe's garters did she want?_

"I'm sorry that I've disturbed you," she said quickly, her eyes darting to the door. Did she know about _him_? Did she know where he was? "I don't have much time, and—oh!—Madam Pomfrey is going to kill me if she finds out where I've gone, but I had to tell _someone_ and you were the only person I thought would be appropriate…"

The girl was destroying her bottom lip with her teeth like some kind of carnivorous animal with a bone. Narcissa stared at her distastefully. She couldn't believe this was the girl who had so changed Draco's life, and only for that reason was she desperate to get her out of the room, to save her life, to get her away from the danger that lurked hidden in plain sight. She had to get back to Hogwarts _now_.

"You shouldn't be here, girl. Draco is the only one allowed to visit me," Narcissa said imperiously. Her only thought was to drive the girl away.

"I know," she replied desperately. "But, please, just hear me out, and then I'll leave and you will never see me again."

"I don't listen to—" Narcissa remembered how Draco had protested when she disrespected Granger. This time she paused before spitting out the word she had previously tossed around as casually as her money. "—Mudbloods."

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, just—"

"Get out."

"—listen to me—"

"_Get out._"

Granger closed her mouth and scowled. It was clear by her tense stance that she had no inclination to leave.

"Mrs. Malfoy. I didn't just pop in for a friendly visit. I have a reason for being here. An important reason. I had Madam Pomfrey attacked so I could slip away to come see you. And I know you don't like me and I certainly don't know you well enough to know if I like you, but you _have to_ hear me out! I can't leave until you hear what I have to say!"

She'd started out in a soft, firm voice that simmered in anger, but as she continued, her words fell out faster and her voice unraveled from tightly controlled anger to desperation. Narcissa could see that the girl was immovable. The only thing she could do was humor her, if only to get her to leave sooner.

"_Fine_. Say what you think you _need_ to say and then _leave._" Her disdain did not deter Granger. She tried to appear composed and failed. Her eyes were restless, unwilling to meet Narcissa's cold gaze. She began mangling her lips with her teeth once again as she twisted and pulled her fingers. Narcissa thought she wouldn't stop until every digit fell out of their sockets.

"I'm… well, you see..." She sighed heavily, unnerved and afraid. Her hands fluttered oddly over her stomach, picking at her jumper and then smoothing it out again.

"Yes?" Narcissa's voice was bored and impatient, spurring her on.

Granger's hands rested flat against her stomach. Narcissa's eyes were drawn to the way her hands rubbed it absently. She seemed surer of herself, if still petrified.

"I'm pregnant?" And the way her voice rose at the end turned it into a question.

Narcissa didn't understand at first. Her mind whirled and raged at the audacity of the girl to cheat on Draco and then get pregnant with someone's baby. Only after she caught up with herself did she see that Granger had come to _her_ because it was Draco's.

But… it couldn't be. Draco had made it clear that they had slept together at least once, but he'd never mentioned the possibility that she was pregnant. He'd said she wasn't doing well… not that she was carrying a bastard Malfoy child.

"_Excuse me?_" Narcissa hissed, infusing as much venom into her voice as she could. The girl had to leave now. She had to get away. She was oblivious to the danger.

"I'm pregnant, ma'am."

Narcissa didn't listen, she planned. How could she get Granger out of St. Mungo's without _him_ harming her? Was there any possibility that he wasn't in the room now? That he hadn't heard the girl? That he hadn't seen her? Could they be that lucky?

"And I _had_ to tell you, you see, because someone has to explain to Draco one day when he finds out—"

"_Finds_ out? You mean he doesn't know?" Narcissa nearly shrieked. She was slightly more composed than that, but she couldn't fathom that this girl was as bright as everyone made her out to be.

"I couldn't tell him! What if I scared him away? I wanted to have him for as long as Providence would let me have him. Before he belongs to _Pansy_."

"Pansy?" Narcissa asked, confused.

The girl lifted her chin, her lips were trembling, her eyes hard.

"I know all about Pansy. That cow doesn't deserve Draco."

"But you do, is that it?" she snapped sardonically.

"I know I don't," Granger replied, astonishing Narcissa. "And if I don't deserve him, Parkinson certainly doesn't. I was just lucky to be chosen by him, and I intended to stay with him as long as he wanted me."

Narcissa's head pounded with one of her stress headaches. She massaged her temples tiredly, hoping that when she looked up again the girl would be gone, desperately wishing it to be so.

"What did you want from me then? Money? Recognition? Has he married you yet?"

Granger's eyes lowered, her voice softened.

"No. I don't want your money. I just needed someone to tell Draco someday. He won't talk to me now, even if I wanted to tell him. Which I don't."

Damn. If the girl knew how much danger she was in she would not be speaking so candidly or lingering in this room.

"I'll leave you to your rest now. Madam Pomfrey might be looking for me."

She passed right by the seemingly empty chair as she exited. Narcissa held her breath until the girl was safely gone. If safe she was.

As soon as the door closed, a mad, ghostly laugh filled the room. Narcissa turned away, not wishing to face the man who was surely revealing himself again.

"Did you hear that, pet? My new toy is with child! Isn't that excellent news? You didn't even congratulate her!"

Narcissa didn't reply, her face was still turned toward the window shielded by the curtain. She didn't see his hand until it closed around her throat, choking her, forcing her to look at him. He used to be a very handsome man, a man that Narcissa had once fancied before… well, before. Now his eyes were wide and wild, bright with madness. His hair was untidy and cropped unevenly. His grip tightened on her throat until Narcissa's eyes watered and she gasped, desperate for air.

"I must give my congratulations in your stead. You were too rude." She thrashed in the bed, trying to break free from his surprisingly strong grip. "Are you not excited about your first grandchild? Must I be excited for you?" He smiled malevolently, revealing most of his rotten, yellow teeth. When he released her throat, Narcissa choked on a sob, trying to breathe again. He strode to the door and lifted his cloak. "_I_ can't wait to meet the darling baby. I think I'll deliver mother and child straight to Draco. Wouldn't that be a pleasant gift?

And then he disappeared from sight as the door opened and closed once again.

In the bed, Narcissa clutched her heart and her throat, still trying to regulate her breathing. But even as the air came easier into and out of her lungs, her breaths quickly turned into sobs that wracked her slight frame. She didn't know whose ruined life she was crying for, Draco's or Granger's, only that one thing was true.

So Narcissa cried for the lives of Hermione Granger and her grandchild, bastard though it was, because he certainly wouldn't allow them to remain alive.

* * *

_My move was successful, in case you were wondering. I am pretty settled for now. I just want to let you know that the end is nigh! I am going to estimate that there are no more than five chapters left in Dark Skies. But then again, I thought I'd finish Diary of a Songbird in about ten to fifteen chapters and look how that turned out. Two stories. Haha. Chapter eight is not written yet but I think I know what is going to happen. Unfortunately, school has started. My time is not my own anymore. I do have a lot of the main action of the story written. If that doesn't show up next chapter it will definitely be in the chapter after. And, if I do say so myself, it's pretty neat. I like it a lot and I hope you guys will too._

_So, to wrap everything up, chapter eight: probably not as fast as this chapter but I will try my best! Look what a horrible updater I am. Almost exactly a year ago, I posted chapter one of DS and I've only gotten seven chapters in. I guess that's not too bad. And last thing, since a lot of interesting stuff is going to happen soon, I'd like to hear some of your predictions. What do you think the main action is? Will the story end happily? And who the freak is that man haunting Narcissa!? I'm just curious as to what you think. Some of the predictions from reviewers in the past turned out to be true. I was freaked out that the story was WAY too obvious. Which, it is pretty cliche, but still. I'm trying to use my original cliche plotline and make it less so. Anyway, let me know!_


	8. Time

_October 4, 2008  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. See chapter one for details.  
Author's Note: Guess what? I'm updating! I apologize for the long wait, but this chapter should make up for it in length and content. I actually had two chapters done and wanted to get them both beta'd before I posted either of them. So I have to thank _Lyndsie Fenele_ for taking time out of her busy schedule to beta this chapter for me. Any mistakes are from my own fiddling and tweaking._

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Time**

Hermione stared out the window at the blazing sunset, hating how quickly time was moving. It was never more evident than when she watched the sun sink below the line of trees of the Forbidden Forest. From her vantage point at the top of the Owlery, the sun had even further to fall before she could call the day finished, leaving dark skies to prevail over her world. She sighed at the beauty below her, soon to be covered by a blanket of night. Wasn't it tragic how every glorious sunset was followed by dusk? How for each decent thing that happened in the world, something dreadful occurred too?

What she couldn't fathom was whether this baby she carried was a rose or a thorn. The letter in her hand added to her confusion and despair.

Hours ago, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey (free of green hair and purple warts) had returned from St. Mungo's, bypassing the visit to Hermione's parents' house. The idea of telling her parents that she was pregnant and alone frightened her too much to make the visit. Her father had warned her about doing the "horizontal mambo", even if it was in jest (because, really, neither one of her parents suspected her of having such a lack in judgment), and she'd done it anyway.

Instead, emotionally and physically drained, Hermione had locked herself in her room and obsessed over her guilt. She wanted the support of her parents almost more than Draco's, and she needed to receive it in person. But she feared their disappointment, their disgust. She'd already had to endure it from Ginny—though, soon enough, she had come through—and Narcissa Malfoy. She didn't even have Harry and Ron to fall back on should her parents not forgive her.

The only silver lining she could see was that the night was always followed by the dawn. It was small comfort. Sighing again, Hermione blinked at the shadowed grounds. Darkness made even the most innocent view seem sinister.

Raising her arm in the air, Pantalaimon flew down from the rafters and hooted sadly.

"_You_ have nothing to fear," Hermione muttered. "They won't hurt you." But herself? She really didn't know what her parents were going to do. The letter she tied to Pan's leg outlined the entire story. She hated herself for being too cowardly to tell them to their faces. They would receive this letter obliviously; happy to have a friendly word from their only daughter—how they would be deceived! Hopefully they would understand.

She watched her beloved familiar fly away into the impenetrable darkness, home of the unknown. Once the night claimed the feathered messenger, she sighed for the third time and turned to leave. There was no point staring at the sky with the sunset gone. The sound of footsteps coming up the narrow stair made her pause to wait for the person to pass before descending. Her heart sank when Parkinson entered the Owlery. There was no place for Hermione to hide.

The pug-faced girl smiled brightly as her eyes landed on her.

"Oh, Granger! I didn't know you were here." Her smile turned into that ubiquitous smirk that seemed to be the birthmark of all Slytherins.

"Parkinson," Hermione said civilly. Pansy was still blocking the only exit.

"Have you heard the good news?" she continued, looking more triumphant every second.

"I'm sure I don't care. Let me pass."

"Oh, but Draco and I are getting married!"

Hermione's poor heart froze even though it shouldn't have. She'd known this was coming. Pansy could be seen all over the castle suctioned to Draco's side like a parasite living off a host. Hermione had figured that Draco would continue his engagement if he wasn't with her. Hearing the words out loud only stabbed more holes in the aching muscle between her lungs. They all seemed to be connected because whenever her heart bled pain like this, her breathing kept faltering.

"Is that so?" she commented, fighting to keep her voice neutrally cool.

Pansy selected an owl and walked towards one of the southern windows. "We'd invite you to the wedding, of course, except Mudbloods aren't allowed."

Hermione ignored her and fled through the open stairway. Pansy's muttered afterthought followed her down the stairs.

"Nor their bastard children."

Her whole body jerked as if she was going to stop moving, but she couldn't, she wouldn't let herself react. If she reacted, Parkinson would know that she'd heard, she would know that it was true.

But how did Pansy Parkinson know? How could she possibly know?

There was absolutely no way that Ginny could have told her. Hermione did not doubt her friend.

The only other person who could and would have told her was Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione didn't know why she felt a sudden wave of disappointment at the thought. Narcissa wanted Draco to marry Pansy, not Hermione. She could have done it to warn her nasty, pug-faced potential daughter-in-law of the competition.

From now on, Hermione would have to be cautious around Parkinson. She didn't know what Madam Malfoy's purpose was in telling her that she was pregnant, but she would protect herself and her baby from any threatening plot created by her. She rubbed her stomach absently as she hurried back to her room.

It was her baby.

Hers.

Hers and Draco's.

No matter what happened, Hermione was going to protect it. The child had to live. It was an extension of herself, a tiny, defenseless version of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. She suddenly couldn't remember any of the reasons why she thought having this baby was the worst thing that could happen to her. Draco, or no Draco. Parkinson, or no Parkinson.

This baby wasn't a thorn. I was her little rose.

Her little baby.

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_I thought about that conversation we had the last time I visited you and I've decided that you were right. I've since then broken off my affair with Hermione Granger. Pansy and I are formally engaged. We plan to wed on the twenty-seventh of June. I hope this news pleases you._

_I've also kept in contact with your Healer who has informed me that you can go home this Friday after extensive physical therapy. I've arranged to send you to our summer home in Madrid. I wouldn't have you stay at Malfoy Manor alone. I know Spain is so far away, but I feel you will be safe there and a change in scenery will be refreshing to your constitution. I'll have the house elves transferred to Madrid as soon as possible._

_Get well soon,_

_Draco_

There. As formal as possible. Draco couldn't let his mother know how badly things had gone since his visit weeks ago. She would be disgusted to know he was having a child out of wedlock, and with a Muggleborn on top of that. He couldn't tell her how he'd made a mistake—the gravest—and then was blackmailed back into his engagement. She couldn't know that in his sleep, he dreamed of different ways to kill Pansy and make it look like an accident.

She was not to know any of this. His life had completely spiraled out of control and he had no idea how to regain it. How could he have no control? He was a Malfoy. The whole world should have been his, and he couldn't even keep a girlfriend.

He reread his letter. It sounded like his mother was elderly and sick and he was sending her out of the country to save him from being bothered or embarrassed by her. Well, it was too late to change it now. He was trying to remain aloof anyway. The more removed she was from his mess, the better off she'd be. She'd already been through enough.

Draco would mail the letter later. He would be late for dinner if he didn't leave now. In the corridor, he looked around to make sure no one was coming, measuring each step he took so that he didn't make too much noise.

He should have known there was no escape.

Draco had barely made it to the staircase when Pansy dashed up the final stair squealing, "Drakey!" She launched herself at him and threw her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist, making him stagger with the force of her weight. If he hadn't fallen into the wall behind him, they would have scattered to the floor.

"Get off of me!"

She didn't release him. "You didn't come pick me up for dinner. I was worried about you. So I came to make sure you were all right!"

"I'm fine! I'm going, now let go!"

Pansy climbed off of him but she didn't relinquish her hold on his arm.

He was going to have to find a way to ditch Pansy. Ever since she'd received the date for their wedding, she'd met him before entering the Great Hall for every meal so that they could walk in together. Draco knew why she did it. She was claiming him, showing him off as hers. It was all for Hermione, and he hated Pansy for goading her in that way.

Draco and Pansy might have entered the Great Hall together, but his mind was always as far away from Pansy as it could be. His eyes sought out Hermione and then he watched her throughout dinner, barely paying any attention to what he ate. As she got up to leave with Potter and the Weasleys, he drank in her entire form, searching for little inconsistencies from the last meal. He didn't know anything about pregnancy; he didn't know what she was supposed to look like four months in. Logically, he knew that she wasn't going to become as big as a beach ball between lunch and dinner, but he waited to see it. He wanted to see her that way.

She was carrying _his _baby. It was theirs. A little bit of him and a little bit of her merged into one tiny body.

Draco _wanted_ that baby. He didn't know anything about babies either, or about being a father—just look at his own—but the idea that he and Hermione would always be connected by one other soul… That it was his… He was possessive of both mother and child. They belonged to him. They were his right.

If things were different, if he hadn't overreacted when Hermione lost her Head Girl position, if the Weasley girl hadn't decided to confront him in the middle of the public Quidditch pitch, if Draco hadn't succumbed to Pansy's blackmail… he could have kept Hermione. It was his own idiocy that had taken her away from him. He thought he'd learned from his mistake, but what did it matter when he'd never get the chance to correct it?

If only this hadn't happened while they were at school.

If only he'd never been betrothed since birth.

If only he didn't love Hermione as he did.

If only, if only. They were only words.

Time was Draco's enemy now. It was passing; he could almost feel it, like a breeze. After exams was graduation. After graduation was his wedding. It was all too soon.

And the faster that time moved, ran away from them all, the farther away Hermione and their child would be from him.

* * *

Against anyone's wishes, time did indeed pass: quickly, surely, and consistently. There were some days Draco couldn't stand to get out of bed. There were some days Hermione hoped would never end. Despite what they wanted, what they wished, and what they dreamed, they did not have the power to stall time. It moved without their consent, and before anyone could believe it, exams were upon them.

* * *

The girl in the mirror was not the same girl she'd been when she got off the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year. She was much changed; almost nothing about her was the same. So much had happened since school began, since she'd found out she was pregnant three months ago. She'd lived an entire life between September and May.

She thought it was fair to call herself a woman now, after the year she'd had so far.

Her reflection astonished her as she gazed at it. It matched the new image she had of herself. She looked like a woman. Period. When she peered at her face, she could see the hardships she'd been through imprinted in her rich, brown eyes. There was happiness there, too, etched into the lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

Hermione was content with her life now. She was resigned to it and determined to make the best out of it. She could not be completely happy as long as she and Draco were apart, but she'd managed well enough. She found something else to keep her grounded.

The woman in the mirror cradled her stomach as if she was carefully clutching the baby buried inside. She stood in nothing but her underwear to better see her enlarged abdomen, stroking and petting. This was the first time Hermione had allowed herself to study her body this way. She'd accepted the baby months ago, but she hadn't accepted what it did to her body until now. Purple stretch marks zigzagged on her sides like large claw marks made by a ravenous animal. They also appeared on her breasts, thighs, and arms, testaments to the weight she'd gained. Everywhere her body was changed, either stretched or engorged.

She couldn't believe how much older she looked this way. Definitely not her eighteen years. Matured. She traced every ugly purple stretch line lovingly. Something beautiful had done this to her, and at least it wouldn't be permanent.

It had taken a little over seven months to create her new reflection in the mirror. And her baby. She smiled thinking about the months she'd lived after finding out she was pregnant.

She had sent her parents a letter explaining what had happened to her. The fears she'd nursed about disownment and anger and disappointment had been fruitless. She'd received a letter two days later from her mum, begging her to come back home to talk about it. Almost two weeks had passed before Hermione struck up enough courage to make the journey. At Hermione's request, Madam Pomfrey had accompanied her to her Muggle home to reassure her parents that she and the baby were being well taken care of.

Hermione smiled at the mirror fondly, remembering that day. At first, her dad had been cold and disapproving, but it hadn't lasted long. He'd never been able to stay angry with her. Her mum had cried a lot, but Hermione kept her promise to herself. She didn't even dream of crying as she repeated her story to her parents. By the end of it, her mum was treating her like she was five and sick with the flu. Her dad had warmed back up to her and offered to beat Draco's bloody arse.

She'd desperately needed that day with her parents. Her spirit was renewed afterwards and she'd felt much stronger for it. The burden she carried seemed less like something troublesome and more like a blessing. She was ready to carry this child and be a mother to it.

Since then, she'd kept up constant correspondence with her mum, who insisted on offering her all kinds of advice for carrying a child to term safely and healthily. It didn't matter that Hermione had Madam Pomfrey and Healer Falconbridge looking after her.

It wasn't too long until her school robes, let alone her Muggle clothing, couldn't conceal her stomach easily. Professor Dumbledore had performed the Fidelius Charm on her stomach to conceal the baby. Hermione would have no Secret Keeper other than herself. It was the easiest choice in case she had to be transported to St. Mungo's in a hurry. No one else would be there to reveal the secret to release the charm to a Healer. Even so, she'd made sure that Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey and all of her other teachers were in on the secret. Certain charms and transfigurations could not be performed on her safely, and her professors would need to be aware of that during class.

Once Professor McGonagall was informed, Hermione voiced a worry to her that she'd had for a while. Before she'd found out she was pregnant, Hermione had continued Animagus lessons with McGonagall. After she found out, she hadn't known if the lessons might have harmed her baby all that time.

Some research was done on both of their parts, plus some inquiry to Madam Pomfrey and Healer Falconbridge, but it had turned out that since she'd been transfiguring herself while the baby was an embryo and then a fetus, it posed no threat to its health. When Hermione was able to successfully become an Animagus, Professor McGonagall had gone with her to register at the Ministry of Magic, but even though she knew it was safe, after she registered, she did not transform anymore. The idea that she was transfiguring her baby _along_ with herself sickened her somewhat.

When Professor Snape had been informed of Hermione's condition, his sallow skin had turned an odd shade of green and he'd looked seriously ill for half an hour. None of his students could understand why after several years of pointedly aggravating Hermione, he'd suddenly begun to ignore her in class. He pretended she didn't even exist, and if she tried to speak to him, his face changed to an expression of revulsion and he recoiled as if she had Dragon Pox and was seriously contagious. On the other hand, since she and Draco were no longer together, Snape began to treat Draco like the source of the world's magic came from his arse.

The only class that Hermione had with Draco was Potions. They still sat together but they didn't speak out of habit. Potions was the most painful two hours of her recent life. Several times, she opened her mouth to say something to Draco but either she changed her mind or he threw himself into his work with double his previous energy and attention. Hermione tried not to take it personally, but it must have been difficult sitting next to a girl he'd dated for so long when he was now engaged to another one, especially one that she hated.

Harry and Ron remained blissfully clueless about the pregnancy. Before she'd had the Fidelius Charm cast on her, they'd enquire about her health. ("Are you alright? You're walking kind of funny," Ron said one morning as Hermione tried to run to class so as not to be late. In her haste and with her unbalanced weight, her running turned out looking more like waddling.) Afterwards, their eyes could never completely focus on her so they couldn't tell any difference in her appearance anyway. Ginny knew she was pregnant, but she couldn't see the effects of it because Hermione hadn't included her in the secret either. That was about to change tonight.

She glanced at the mirror one more time, taking in her appearance and smiling at her reflection. The sight would be complete if only Draco was standing behind her, smiling over her shoulder, maybe with his arms wrapped protectively, possessively, lovingly around her waist and stomach. With a sigh, she looked away and returned to her bed where she'd been sitting before she got the urge to strip down to her knickers and ogle herself. Her diary lay on the scarlet duvet, just as she'd left it. She completed the thought she'd been writing before and added the revelation from the mirror about her developing womanhood, then closed the crimson book with a satisfied sigh. Her name, embossed in gold on the cover, shone like a beacon of hope leading her to her happy-ever-after.

Still, it wasn't quite as happy without Draco.

She replaced the diary back on her bookshelf between some of her most prized books. _Moste Potente Potions_ guarded the diary from the left while _The Golden Compass_ guarded it from the right.

Sometimes old habits died hard. Even after the curse had been lifted from her, Hermione had been unable to stop writing in her diary. At first, she'd refrained from using it, as it had been a source of great pain and anger to her for two years. It wasn't long though—when she first started having nightmares about Lucius, in fact—that she found solace once again in her diary, this time simply using it for therapeutic purposes.

Hermione glanced at the clock on her bedside table, noting the time. Ginny and Harry were probably already waiting for her. She dressed in the lavender dress her mother had sent her when Hermione told her in a letter that none of her clothes would fit anymore. It was a comfortable, flattering dress. It had a band right underneath the bust that was pulled tighter by long ribbons tied at her back, the ends fluttering behind her like wings or a cape. The skirt of the dress began at the band under her bust, accentuating her waist while leaving room to float over her stomach. In this dress she looked very pretty, she thought.

She looked like a woman glowing with her pregnancy, only, her glow was slightly dimmed by the darkness Draco's absence created. She never imagined that she could look pretty with her hair wild, bushy, and untamed. Her face was unadorned, no makeup caked her skin. After spending the past summer with her Muggle friends learning how to make her hair sleek, how to wear clothes, and how to apply makeup, she couldn't fathom her plain features ever being attractive on their own. And yet, here she stood radiating with natural beauty.

She shuffled out of her room and waddled down the stairs. She didn't know if Draco was in his room or not. They never met each other face to face outside of Potions; it was possible that he watched out for her to make sure their presences never collided. At first, she'd been afraid to leave her room in case she met him in their common room, but he never spent time there and she soon became confident enough to hang out in the common room herself. He never appeared. She realized that she was always hoping that he would just so she could see him where no one would notice her staring at him.

In the corridor in front of her portrait hole, Harry and Ginny stood waiting patiently, talking quietly amongst themselves. They both smiled when Hermione stepped out of the common room. Neither one could see how her stomach tented her dress; their eyes would be tricked into seeing her lean, as if she were not carrying an extra soul inside. A precautionary charm was also placed on her to make it difficult for anyone's eyes to look straight at her, jumping from whatever object was on her left straight to whatever was on her right. She knew that this had worried Ginny. She had not talked to her friend about the pregnancy since the charms were placed on her and now Ginny seemed to think that Hermione might have aborted the child.

What a ridiculous notion! She could never do such a thing to a baby she already loved more than her own life. But Ginny didn't know this and Hermione had refused to answer her plainly when she tried to talk to her on the subject. It was safer for now if only the current bearers of her secret knew what the secret was. They were bound by magic to keep it safe.

Until tonight, that is. Hermione had invited Ginny and Harry over to allow them into the charm. She hated excluding Ron, but she knew that Harry would be the more levelheaded about it. Harry had never dated Hermione before. He'd also never been in a situation with her that could have led to something more, but turned out being nothing at all. Draco was the one who'd taken Hermione down the road of "something more" and even though Ron had Claire now, she knew that he would not be easy to pacify after hearing her whole story.

Later, she would have hell to pay from him, but for now, and for the safety of her baby, she would risk his future ire.

"Hey!" she greeted cheerfully, genuinely excited to see them. She did care about Harry's reaction, but knowing he would be okay with her decisions only made her more excited to have him in her confidence.

"Hey!" Harry and Ginny returned at the same time. Hermione invited them into the common room, closing the portrait behind them.

"Wow," Harry breathed as he took in the décor. His eyes darted from the lion and serpent statues on the mantle above the fire to the majestic tapestries covering the walls to the library of books between the two staircases, located underneath Hermione and Draco's rooms. "Your common room looks better than ours! Except for all the snakes…and the green."

Hermione laughed. "Um… thanks?"

"We're not going to bump into Malfoy, are we?" Harry asked, distaste clear in his voice.

"I don't think so. We never run into each other here."

Ginny put her hand on Hermione's shoulder, strengthening her friend and giving her quiet support. Harry was equally as silent as he followed them up the stairs.

Hermione had told Ginny long ago of that incident in the Owlery and what Parkinson had said about her and Draco marrying. The memory of the look on Ginny's face still puzzled her when she thought about it. It was one of stark disbelief, as if the two marrying was an act of betrayal to Ginny herself. Ever since then, her red-headed friend had barely been able to contain her loathing for both Slytherins. She tried to convince Hermione to forget about Draco, that he was scum and not worth thinking about, even in a passing thought. After the Fidelius Charm successfully concealed her body's developments from the pregnancy, Ginny had stopped talking about Draco altogether. The idea that Hermione had aborted the baby seemed to have disheartened her, dousing the fire of hatred for Draco and Pansy.

Once in her bedroom, Hermione encouraged her friends to take a seat on her bed. She once again took her place in front of the mirror, smiling softly at their reflections.

"So, what's this about?" Ginny asked curiously when no one said a word.

"I have a secret that I need to tell you," Hermione answered. Her old self might have felt some anxiety at the prospect of informing more people. She'd been nervous enough when she told Narcissa Malfoy. Now she was confident in her choices. Even if Harry did not accept her the way she now was, she knew that her baby would be more important to her than any hurt she might feel because of him.

She didn't really think Harry would hate her afterwards anyway. Who could possibly hate a child? How could he hate her for wanting this one so badly? He of all people would be able to understand, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he hate her more if he gave her baby up, abandoning it to a life without its real parent?

"All this just for a secret?" Harry commented.

Hermione smiled conspiratorially. "It's a very special, very important secret. It's so important that I'm under the Fidelius Charm hiding it, to which I am the Secret Keeper. I'm admitting you into the charm." Her voice turned pleading. "You have to forgive me for waiting so long to tell you. Especially you, Harry. It's not that I don't trust either of you, it's just that I wanted to keep the number of people who know contained. But the term is almost over and I want you to be aware when I…"

She faltered. Ginny's eyes danced with an excitement and happiness that told Hermione that she knew what her secret was. But until Hermione actually uttered the words, Ginny would still be unable to see it anyway. Harry's face was a polite mask of perplexity. He didn't really understand what was going on, but he seemed patient enough to wait for a complete explanation.

"Well," Harry prompted. "What is it?"

Guess not, she thought.

Hermione took in a deep breath.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, am pregnant."

The astonishment on Harry's face grew exponentially after he heard her words and then stared at her stomach. She didn't know what he saw; being the Secret Keeper, her stomach was not hidden from her own sight. Remembering what it had been like to see Grimauld Place shove itself into place in the middle of a seemingly sound building made Hermione wonder if her stomach was doing just the same for Harry and Ginny. She couldn't imagine being in either of their places watching as her abdomen extended like something alive inside was trying to claw its way out.

Ginny was the first to react, jumping up and hugging Hermione around the neck, laughing out loud. "You kept it!"

Hermione couldn't help but catch her excited fever as she beamed and replied, "Of course I did." She glanced at Harry warily; his face was frozen in a dopey, stunned expression.

"But… when did… You're _what_?"

She released Ginny and kneeled in front of Harry precariously. It was awkward to keep her balance when a Bludger was weighing her down in front. Taking his hand, she stared into his dazzled green eyes as she placed it gently on her stomach. There was a jerk from inside and Harry jumped, startled.

"It moved!"

Hermione grinned. "Yes, he does that a lot."

"He?" Ginny inquired.

Without looking away from the wonder on Harry's face she corrected, "I don't actually know, but he feels like a boy." In her mind's eye she could see her fair-haired baby looking too much like his father. She preferred if there was more of Draco in her child than of her.

"Can I assume it's Malfoy's?" Harry asked, moving his hand in small circles. The baby kicked him again. His preoccupation with the baby's movements kept loathing from discoloring his voice when mentioning Draco.

"You may assume all you like, but yes, it is."

"And he dumped you knowing about _this_?" Hermione and Ginny shared a guilty glance. Harry was incredulous. "You mean, he doesn't _know_?"

"No," Hermione murmured. "I didn't tell him."

When no further explanation was forthcoming he exploded, "_Well_? Why not!"

The young woman stood up from her crouch, her ankles throbbing with the effort of holding her up. She sat down next to Harry; Ginny took a place on her other side.

"It's a long story, but I'm willing to tell it. Will you hear it? I was afraid of your judgment, but I'll take it if you'll just hear me out first." Harry nodded curtly.

She told him about her celebration with Draco after the curse was taken off of her, keeping the details vague. He didn't really want to know too much about that part anyway. She described her worries and fears, which she had thought caused her uneasiness and illness, but she left out any mention of Lucius. Draco had told her he was dead and she wholeheartedly believed him; there was no need to bring up this issue when it certainly wasn't one. She recounted how she found out she was pregnant, and he glared at Ginny when he heard her part in the story. She divulged the contents of the meeting she had with Dumbledore that took away her Head Girl position and how that had lead to Draco leaving her, though he had heard that part before. She finished with her revelation in the Owlery, when she decided that the baby was hers and no one would take it away from her and no one would love it more than she.

After the story was told, Harry looked upon his friend with respect and shock.

"All of that in this one year?"

"Mad isn't it?"

They all three sat in awe for a few silent minutes, Hermione letting her feelings come up to the surface to be named for the first time. She was relieved, of course, to have Harry in her confidence and to be able to talk to Ginny about her pregnancy again. Before, after Hermione had just learned of her condition, it had been uncomfortable to talk about it. She'd barely been able to think of it at all, but now all she did was think about her child. She wanted to gush and fawn over the baby that wasn't even born yet, but Ginny would probably tire of hearing it quickly.

Hermione's eyes prickled with tears and she tilted her head up to keep them from escaping and running down her face.

"Hermione?" Ginny said worriedly.

"I'm… just so glad that you both know. You have no idea how hard it was to keep this to myself. Only the professors knew for so long and they didn't want to talk about it, of course. Madam Pomfrey is the only one who was completely comfortable speaking about the pregnancy candidly."

"Wait… you mean Snape knows?" Harry asked.

Hermione rubbed her eyes while Ginny patted her back. "Yes. All my teachers know."

"Is that why he's so… lenient with you now?"

She giggled. "Yes. He was horrified that Draco and I were dating. He couldn't even celebrate our break up correctly what with this incident happening. You should have seen his face when Dumbledore told him."

Her throat became unbearably tight. _Not here, not now. Not ever._ Rubbing her eyes free of excess moisture, she cleared her throat and sat up straighter.

"You didn't tell Ron, did you?" Ginny asked.

Guiltily, Hermione stared at her stomach. "No. I… didn't know how he would handle it. He's so temperamental, I wasn't sure that my secret would be safe with him."

"He would be bound by the Fidelius Charm, though," Harry reasoned.

"Yes, he would. I just… didn't want any unpleasantness right now. Not when I'm almost happy."

Their silence told her that they agreed Ron would not take the news quietly or happily. They laid back in Hermione's bed staring up at the canopy, trying to discern the thuds of four hearts beating.

"Have you thought of any names yet?" Ginny asked, suddenly enthusiastic.

"A few. I was hoping that something would come to me when I saw him for the first time. My mum refused to look for names for me, and when I was born, she decided that I looked like a Hermione." She grinned as she thought of that story. It had caused her a lot of grief when she was younger and her schoolmates had made fun of her name.

"I hope Ginevra isn't one of them," Ginny said with distaste. "I don't know what my mum was thinking. She named me after the last girl born in the Weasley family, some great-great-great-multiplied-by-infinity-great-aunt."

Harry and Hermione laughed.

"No. If it's a girl, I'll name her Cassandra Alice. I've always loved that name."

"I vote Harry if it's a boy," Harry joked.

She sighed. "If it's a boy, Samuel Amadeus."

Ginny and Harry absorbed the names for a minute before they spoke again.

"I like them."

"Yeah, your baby will have a great name no matter what it's born to be."

"Just think..." Hermione said wistfully. "In about a month, I'm going to be a mother."

"I can't fathom it," Ginny sighed wonderingly.

"I can't either. You had dreams, didn't you, Hermione?"

Her eyes stared at the shadows in the canopy, watching them flicker by the light of the sconces on the walls. They darted and danced around the spots of light reflected by her mirror. Darkness and light existing together in the same fabric—an unfathomable occurrence until now. The dark always seemed so oppressive, a conqueror of everything bright, sunny, and hopeful.

"I still have them. Right now my dream is to have my son and to love him. I want to make him happy and I want to be happy with him. After that, maybe when he goes to Hogwarts, I'll do all the things I've wanted to do." Hermione's hands rubbed her abdomen. Harry and Ginny each placed a hand next to hers from beside her. The child kicked each of them; the mother huffed in delighted exasperation.

To their young and inexperienced minds, eleven years seemed eons away. They couldn't picture each other so far in the future. Harry and Ginny thought they might still be together then. It only seemed right. They'd been fated to be together since Ginny became infatuated with him when she was ten years old. Hermione could clearly see herself with her baby—her child at that point. He was a miniature of his father in every way. She imagined him purely Malfoy, not a speck of Granger in him, except possibly in his intellect and his compassion for people and creatures alike. There was no other man in her future. Maybe it was naïve of her to think so, but after her wondrous first true love ending in disaster, she didn't want to be with anyone else. She and Draco might not have been destined to be together, but Hermione wanted no other.

They pondered in silence, but Harry and Ginny could sense Hermione's discomfort with the subject of their open futures. Harry's voice was light and curious when he finally spoke, the first to breech the quiet.

"So… did Snape look like Christmas was canceled when he found out?"

Recognizing Harry's action for what it was, she smiled and teased back, "_Worse_. It almost seemed like he was disappointed that _he_ couldn't be the one to carry Draco's child instead!"

They passed the rest of the evening with light-hearted banter.

* * *

Later in the week, Hermione decided to watch Gryffindor House's Quidditch team practice before dinner. She was starting to go stir crazy studying all the time, which wouldn't have bothered her, usually. Now that the baby was due in less than a month, she was starting to feel perpetually antsy. It was hard for her to keep still for too long and her mind wandered frequently. After such a long time studying during her free periods, she'd asked Harry if he minded if she joined them, and he'd seemed thrilled that she was taking an interest.

As she walked with Harry, Ginny, and Ron to the pitch, Hermione felt guilt start to gnaw at her. Of the group, Ron was the only one who didn't know that Hermione was pregnant, couldn't see the effects of that fact, and for what was now appearing to be a petty reason. Ron should have been given the chance to hear the news and react to it, shouldn't he? When she had voiced this concern to Ginny a couple days ago, she'd looked annoyed and unimpressed.

"Don't try to talk yourself into doing something you'll regret, Hermione. I love my brother, but he's a prat, and he will act like a prat if you tell him. When it comes to you he is irrational, no matter which way he feels about you."

This had soothed Hermione until now. She felt so sneaky, so deceptive. It was unfair to Ron. But it was her news to tell, and her secret. She shouldn't have to feel weighed down with guilt all the time because she chose not to tell him. Still, it worried her all the way to the Quidditch pitch. While Ron went to change into his Quidditch leathers, Harry and Ginny had helped Hermione find a seat without falling or injuring herself. She was so huge now that walking became hazardous in itself. She tripped over her own feet or the air. As soon as the whole team had changed, they took off into the air, surrounding Harry to hear his goals for this practice.

Hermione envied her friends' flying ability. One time, their first weekend back at school, Harry and Ron had tried to teach her how to fly. She'd started to get the hang of it before Draco (then known as Malfoy) had started bothering them and caused Hermione to nearly fall, her clutch on the handle of Ron's broom the only thing keeping her from certain death. But that experience, her very limited time, and now her pregnancy, had caused her to fall out of practice until she was back to the stage of being too afraid to leave the ground too far behind her.

Her friends, on the other hand, flew as if their brooms were extensions of their bodies. An extra limb adapted just so they could defeat gravity in this way. They flew as if it was nothing that the ground was fifty feet below them, as if it was natural to spin in the air like that.

Hermione vowed that as soon as it was safe for her to do so, she was going to defeat her fear and become as fluid in the air with a broom. If not, she always had her Animagus form, a mockingbird, for her flying pleasure.

Despite the excitement and fear of watching her friends zoom around at death-defying heights, soon Hermione grew bored, and boredom turned into exhaustion. All she ever wanted to do now was sleep, sleep, sleep. Just thinking about it made her eyelids droop. She called for one of her friend's attentions; Ginny was the first to stop by her head.

"I'm really tired," Hermione said. "I think I'm going to go inside."

Ginny looked like she was about to get off of her broom. "Alright. Do you need any help getting back?"

Irritation made Hermione's voice slightly sharp. "I'm pretty sure I know where the castle is, thank you." Before Ginny could say anything else, she toddled her way down the stairs and left the pitch, but once she was outside in the cool, clear air, her mind cleared and she felt more awake. Reluctant to head back up to the confining walls of the castle, she turned on the path and headed towards her favorite haunt, the lake.

The wind blew softly against her skin, blowing the scent of pine and lake in dizzying spirals around her. She instantly felt calmer walking along the shore, drifting like the breeze and the water lapping at the ground at her feet. The silver moon was full and heavy in the sky, pregnant like herself, radiating its beauty and light onto the water. The reflection was so clear, the water so serene, it seemed as if the lake was a portal into an alternate universe where the moon could smile down on herself. The stars were tiny pin pricks of light, glitter spilled on an empty, deep blue canvas.

She loved this lake. She had always come here when she was troubled and it was clear to her now why she did so. The lake symbolized everything beautiful and mystical. Flights of fancy roamed free over the water and danced on the shore. The lake was magical in a way that witches and wizards were not. Their magic was practical, but the lake's magic was fantastical. It couldn't be understood or described completely.

She wanted to hide here, but she was unsure what she wanted to hide from. Reality, possibly. Sitting on an outcropping of rocks on the shore, not the rock that she and Draco shared, but different ones on the opposite side of the lake, she heard the rustle of leaves in the forest behind her. She dismissed it for the wind and continued to stare at the moon's twin in the lake. It reminded her of Draco's hair. His eyes, too, those few times when he was so happy that his eyes were that light.

So enraptured by the visage laid out before her, Hermione did not notice the figure stalking towards her, unconcealed by the moon's bright beams. His hands grabbed her body from behind and before she could scream, Hermione was immobilized and dragged away.

The moon continued to smile down on its false sister.

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated! This story is almost over! I can't say exactly how many chapters are left, but there are definitely three more, I think. The next chapter is ready for posting, but I think I'll keep it for a little bit because I'm evil like that. I'm really anxious to hear what you all think!


	9. The Truth Unravels

_October 28, 2008  
Author's Note_: _Here's chapter nine! Read and review if you feel inclined. More thorough notes at the bottom.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. See chapter 1 for more details. Many, many thanks to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing!_

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Truth Unravels**

Consciousness trickled back to her like the rewind of a dripping faucet. Drop by drop, Hermione regained awareness until the water in her mind was shallow enough to perceive her surroundings. The muscles in her eyelids refused to work for her, but she sensed that she was lying flat on her back on a cold, slightly damp surface. Somewhere water _was_ dripping incessantly, and her surroundings smelled musty.

The cloud in her mind continued to recede, but she couldn't remember how she'd come to be here—wherever here was. She was doing something… going somewhere? She was going to the castle, she thought, back to her room, but where was she returning from? Wherever it was, she never made it back to Hogwarts. She'd been on the grounds somewhere, the last she recalled.

The thought seemed to allow her eyes to open, but when she did, she wasn't sure that she had. At first, she couldn't see anything and her heart sped up in panic, but then her eyes adjusted to the faint light shining through a barred window somewhere to her left. She pushed herself up into a sitting position. Every muscle and joint screamed in agony. She almost returned to her horizontal position except something inside her told her that she wanted to have her defenses up.

What had happened to her? Why couldn't she remember?

Taking a moment to look around, Hermione catalogued her surroundings, but there wasn't much to see even if she had more light.

Wait. Where was her wand? She patted herself down and checked her pockets, but it was not on her. She focused back on the room. She could worry about the wand later. There were more important things to worry about.

The barred window, she could tell now, was set in a thick, ancient-looking door. The light seeped in from torches lining the corridor outside the room she was in. Could she still be in Hogwarts? Maybe in an empty dungeon? The room was bare. There was no other furniture that she could see, and it was too small to be an unused classroom, or even one of Hogwarts dungeons. The floor was wet, not dusty, meaning… What did that mean?

There was something on the floor a few feet to her right. It was large, long, and soft around the edges, like a massive bundle of some sort. Hermione crawled over to examine it, hoping it was not going to devour her whole.

It was a body. She rolled it over to get a look at the face and all the air in her lungs released in a loud gasp.

Long, silky, platinum-blonde hair… pale, soft features usually turned down in a frown…

Narcissa Malfoy.

And for some reason, Hermione's memory came back. Maybe Narcissa's hair had reminded her how the moon shone on the lake after watching Harry, Ron, and Ginny's Quidditch practice. She had been tired so she'd left early, but then fancied a soothing walk around the Hogwarts lake before returning to her room. These days, she was more tired than usual because of the pregnancy, and sometimes she liked to have time alone to contemplate her last few weeks connected to her child this way. Now, Hermione couldn't remember what she was actually thinking of at the time, only the shock when an arm jerked her back by the waist and another hand wrapped around her mouth, stifling her scream. She'd struggled with her attacker. She heard him curse before she saw the bright blue light of an unknown spell.

And then she'd woken up here.

"That's right, pet. Why don't you wake up now?"

Her body became so tense in fear that her muscles ached sharply. The room suddenly flared with light, she was blinded for a few precious moments. Looking down, away from the flames of torches, she noticed that Narcissa's face and clothes were dirty as if she'd been here for days.

Footsteps claimed her attention, forcing her to look up.

Everything about the man was familiar. She'd seen the sneer on his face mirrored on the face of his son. Their eyes likewise, though these eyes had never shown kindness like she'd seen in Draco's. His hair was matted, unevenly cropped, and dirty, but once it had looked like Narcissa's, like Draco's. Beautiful and glossy, sleek, silver.

For one wild moment, her heart pounded as if trying to escape her ribcage. It had thought she was looking at Draco.

As he stalked closer, she saw the two wands in his hands. One of them was hers. All of her nightmares from the past two years came back to her now. Was she going to reenact them all tonight?

She couldn't believe it. Lucius Malfoy.

He lived after all.

* * *

Chatter, chatter, chatter.

What the _hell_ did Pansy talk so much about? Draco didn't know; he ignored her most of the time. Whenever they were together she went _on_ and _on_ about Merlin knew what. It was all Draco could do to keep from bashing his head against a wall. He often wondered if Pansy had deluded herself into thinking her annoying nattering was what kept him with her. She must have known that Draco was not interested in her, and only stayed with her to protect Hermione's reputation and friendships. Since he had agreed to marry her, she had sought him during all his free time, latched herself to his arm, and walked with him to every class and meal, as if not to do so would give him a chance to escape.

Draco couldn't escape. He'd bound himself to Pansy to protect Hermione and he wasn't going to go back on that.

His only respite came at breakfast time, when Pansy didn't bother to walk all the way up to the fourth floor to receive him, so he skipped it all together.

Right now he was walking Pansy to dinner, which he looked forward to with as much enthusiasm as the thought of gouging his eyes out with needles. The only light in his day was the idea that he was going to see Hermione, even if it was just to stare at her throughout lunch and dinner. He never saw her in their common room—now that he was aware that she still lived there—or between classes. They still sat next to each other in Potions, but it was difficult to stare at her without her noticing. They had perfected the ability to work together when Snape demanded them to without speaking. The Potions professor sneered at Draco happily nowadays, while ignoring Hermione completely. The world was right again, Draco was sure, in his eyes: Granger didn't speak to Malfoy, Malfoy didn't look at Granger.

Except that he did, of course. Whenever he could.

But he pretended to be indifferent to her when he was far from it. Out of her presence, he was the worst fiancé Pansy could ever have, but when Hermione was around, he worked doubly hard to appear content.

He wasn't, but he was determined not to let her know that. He thought he was easing her suffering by letting her see that he was fine without her. He could not distinguish the truth when she was putting on the same act for him.

It was hard to be a Malfoy these days. All he wanted was to be with Hermione, to be a part of the growth of their child, but to do so was to be the opposite of Malfoy. And look where that had gotten him.

Besides, did he really know that Hermione had kept the child? He'd been watching her for months, and if he had counted correctly—which he was sure he had; he ritualistically watched his calendar, counting and recounting every single day that had passed—she should be nearly seven months along. Thirty three weeks and two days, to be exact. But she never changed. Not in any way that he noticed. Her wide robes still fell around her flatly; shouldn't they have bulged in the front? He didn't know anything about pregnancy, so maybe it was still unperceivable. How would he be able to tell? So he watched her every day, hoping that her appearance would change, knowing that it probably wouldn't. He did not lose hope that their child was not gone. She could have concealed it. That's why he'd agreed to marry Pansy, wasn't it? So that Hermione's secret would not be revealed to the whole school? She would want to keep the same secret, as well, wouldn't she?

Pansy continued chirping as they entered the Great Hall. As was his way, Draco's eyes scanned the Gryffindor table for a familiar bushy-haired head. It wasn't there. He looked again. Still no hair. He searched for Potter and the Weasleys, but they were all there looking unconcerned, so maybe Hermione had just gone to the library.

She really shouldn't skip meals though. He knew from the Weaslette that she didn't miss meals anymore. When she ate, she ate heartily. For two. It wasn't like her to forget to eat since… since he'd broken up with her.

Damn it. He would have to go to breakfast the next morning now to make sure she was there and eating. Pansy would be a bother, but it would be worth it to see Hermione.

Throughout dinner, Draco kept one eye on the door to the entrance hall and one on the Gryffindor table. At one point, Ginny had met his eye and he could tell that she was slightly concerned too.

Draco walked Pansy to the Slytherin common room, his mind racing with thoughts. Ginny was waiting for him at the bottom of the marble staircase when he came back up from the dungeons. She looked put out.

"Where is she?" he asked upon seeing her.

"I don't know why you care." She sneered. The expression was not fit to be on her face. He noted absently that she really was too kind for such an ugly expression to be at home there.

"Yes you do," he replied calmly, firmly enough to tell her he didn't have the patience for games.

"She's probably sleeping. She came out to watch the Quidditch team practice, but left early."

"But you don't believe that," he guessed.

"Yes I do," she protested. "She's a big girl, Malfoy, she can take care of herself."

"She's not just taking care of herself anymore, Weasley." He could feel his frustration mounting. He only wanted to hold Hermione and feed her and take care of her. He had to live vicariously through this stubborn Gryffindor girl who had every reason to hate him since she'd told him Hermione was pregnant and he'd still turned his back on her. He hated himself for the exact same reason.

"You really _do_ care about her, don't you?" Ginny asked in astonishment. She stared at Draco as if she couldn't believe it.

"Stupid Weasley. Are you really that daft?" he snarled. How dare she question his feelings! Though, he supposed grudgingly, she could see him as uncaring after he'd become engaged with Pansy, knowing what he did about Hermione. His actions definitely left her little faith about his character.

"I just thought that maybe you really did want to break up with her and used the first excuse you found to do it," she replied doubtfully. Everything she thought she had pinned down about him was becoming unpinned, making her uncertain about what she thought was true.

Though, six years of animosity were also too much to just overlook in a few months, he thought.

"You thought wrong," he hissed, oddly stung by her uncomplimentary idea of him. He spun on his heel and left her in the shadow of the marble staircase.

* * *

"Ah! It seems Narcissa is finally joining us."

Hermione looked at the woman's shaking, stirring body. She hadn't looked away from Lucius in what must have been hours. She was afraid that as soon as her guard was down he would attack her. This was the first time Narcissa had woken since Hermione had been there. How long had it been? Only Lucius knew. He had chatted amiably to her about inane things since she had gained consciousness earlier. Hermione hadn't spoken one word to him; she didn't know what he planned to do to her so she tired to refrain from angering him unintentionally. So far he didn't seem vexed by her silence either. Hermione took this as a bad sign. Even now, she didn't dare see to Narcissa. Who knew what this insane man would do to them?

Narcissa's body trembled as she sat up, groans of pain and disorientation escaping her bleeding lips. Hermione hadn't noticed before, but now she saw how smashed up Narcissa's face looked. It was not only covered in a coat of grime, sweat, and blood, but scratches and bruises too. Her lip was split and she sported a black eye.

Her eyes met Hermione's fearful, red-rimmed brown ones and the aristocratic woman froze in place. She took in the younger girl's appearance quickly, then she lifted her eyes to her husband.

"Lucius," she breathed.

"_Darling_," he sneered. "Miss Granger and I were just getting acquainted."

Narcissa's head swiveled to Hermione, her eyes were furious. "_You_! I told you to leave!" Hermione didn't understand her, couldn't understand her. When had she told her anything?

"Now Cissy… That's exactly why you are here, isn't it? You can't blame Miss Granger for your misjudgment." His smile revealed his crooked, yellowed teeth. "Why don't we all share stories about how we came to be here, hm? I'll go first."

* * *

She wasn't at breakfast either. Draco had subjected himself to Pansy for absolutely no reason at all. Ginny kept meeting his eye throughout the meal, the concern on her face more defined today. Potter and Weasley, at least, had noticed Hermione's absence this time. They kept sharing worried glances that they thought the Weaslette couldn't see.

Draco sat the whole of breakfast without eating, waiting for Hermione to rush in the door after oversleeping.

She didn't.

He went to class without looking at Ginny again; he could feel her eyes on his back. But class was not enough of a distraction. He couldn't get his body to relax. Anyone who looked at him must have thought he was about to be attacked, or that he would attack them should they bother him, the way his body was tensed. When he entered Potions, it didn't even occur to him that she wouldn't be there, even though he knew she had missed two consecutive meals and Ginny hadn't seen her. But her seat remained empty for the entire hour and he was too distracted to brew his potion properly or care.

"Mr. Potter," Snape called from the front of the class near the end of the period. "Where is Miss Granger?" He sneered at Potter as if he wasn't really concerned and was only mocking him.

"Isn't she in her seat, _sir_?" Potter replied hatefully. Draco wondered at his nerve to speak that way in this classroom.

"You know very well that she isn't. Would you like detention for your cheek?" Snape seethed with loathing.

"Then I don't know," Potter said, ignoring the professor's question. As Snape dismissed the class with a wave of his hand, it occurred to Draco that _Dumbledore_ could have put him up to asking after Hermione's whereabouts.

The professors had noticed her absence as well then, he thought with relief. He couldn't be the only one worried about her. He still had to remain indifferent.

Even when he was anything but.

* * *

"Before I begin, are there any questions?" Lucius asked, spreading his arms open with his palms face up in mock inquiry.

"Th-there is one thing you never told me," Narcissa timidly began. "How?"

"How did I survive, you mean?" he supplied.

Hermione couldn't stop the words from falling out: "Harry killed you!" She slapped a hand across her mouth in horror.

His mad gaze focused entirely on her then, his mouth spreading into a deranged smile.

"Potter? _Kill me_? That _boy_ could not kill me!" His face twisted into a savage expression of hate. "He killed my master, but I refused to suffer the same end as he.

"Did you know the Dark Lord was a half-blood? And he thought he could command the rightful nobility, we with the purest blood, to do his bidding! Potter only defeated the Dark Lord because they were of like heritage. He couldn't _kill me_ with my superior bloodline!"

He panted revulsion until all of a sudden, his face became calm once again and his eyes lost their insane glint.

"But that leads me to my story, doesn't it?"

He paced the length of the room, deciding where to start. Hermione and Narcissa kept their wary eyes on him.

"What everyone claims to have seen when _Potter killed me_ was exactly what I wanted them to see. If the world thought I was dead, then I could go on living. Potter didn't know that when that building exploded, I had not died underneath it. Stupid fool hadn't even bothered to check. When I crawled out from beneath the rubble, what do you think I saw? Chaos, certainly, but that wasn't the only thing. On the ground next to me—of all things!—was Potter's Invisibility Cloak. I took it as I fled and waited out the rest of the battle in the mountains surrounding Hogsmeade."

Hermione was shocked. She hadn't even known that Harry had lost his Invisibility Cloak. He'd never told her that, though maybe she could see why. It was his inheritance from his father. He'd probably been ashamed to lose it, if it hadn't been destroyed in the battle.

"When it had ended, and my body had not been found, Potter told the world that he had killed me, when in fact, he had not. Do you see what a fool he is now? Do you see how he had never been worthy of the hero worship and praise that he has received since he was merely a babe? He defeated the Dark Lord but he could not defeat _me_."

Hermione wanted to yell at him that he was a coward and that if he'd stayed his ground and fought like everyone else, he most certainly would have died that day. She didn't dare. His previous anger towards provocation had been frightening enough. Hermione did not want to push him to do something hasty.

He continued. "I made my way back to Malfoy Manor and followed my dear wife wherever she went. I wanted to see what she did to mourn me, but her mourning didn't last long. I watched her throw herself at other men, misleading them with promises of her body as if she were not recently widowed."

"I never—!" Narcissa cried, trying to plead with him, but he cut her off with a snarl.

"You behaved shamefully with men I worked with! With men whom I knew envied me for my wife's beauty and status! Men who would have taken her from me if they could! You gave them every opportunity to hope like the whore you are!" He spoke primarily to Narcissa now, who cowered against the wall, waiting for his physical retaliation.

"So I tried to teach you a lesson, but you refused to die. I was content with the extent of your injuries, but somehow you were taken to St. Mungo's, where I knew you would recover. I didn't stay with you then—how boring would that be? I amused myself with different occupations, all while keeping my identity concealed, and if the latest whore figured out who I was—well, the authorities never did find out who killed her, did they? I sent you flowers, your favorites. The time I whiled away with unsatisfactory shags made me regret trying to kill you. We were good together, you and I. Years of experience and practice in our marriage meant we knew each other's bodies as well as we knew our own. I missed having you in my bed, at least. You pleased me so.

"Then I heard news that you had awakened and I was at your side immediately, making sure you didn't tell anyone what had really transpired. You surprised me by keeping it to yourself. Did you know that I would have killed you at once, had you tried to tell the truth? I would have. I did not miss your body enough to keep you alive, unless I knew you would have been subservient to me in every way. With your strong will, I knew it was useless to think you would submit to me. And the next day, who should show up but _my son_ and with the most wondrous news, at that! He was _in love_ with an undeserving _Mudblood._ Again, I was surprised that you didn't warn him about the danger, because, indeed, there was danger."

His face slowly spiraled back into that horrifying mask of insanity that frightened Hermione more than his words. His eyes were wide and spit flew from his mouth like a rabid animal. He seemed unaware that he was not alone, and for now, and in his state of mind, this suited Hermione fine.

"I watched over you, kept you company, made sure you were quiet. My patience paid off. The Mudblood waltzed right into my hands with even more glorious news. She was with child! My delight was so great at hearing this that I couldn't wait to share it with Draco, since he didn't know of it himself. My mind was constantly filled with my fantasies of torturing the bastard and its mother. I planned. Soon afterwards, you were released from St. Mungo's and I followed you to Madrid. I did not let you know that I was still with you, but you never told a soul that I was alive. I trusted you to keep my secret, and when I was ready for my plans to begin, I brought you back to Malfoy Manor where I could keep a better watch on you. Thus isolated and incapacitated, I left you for Hogwarts.

"I waited by the gates for three weeks to get inside. I stole food from the village when I was in need of it and I was rewarded for my patience again. The gates were opened to admit students into Hogsmeade and also to allow me inside. Patience is a virtue, and I shall never underestimate it ever again. The girl walked right past me where I hid at the lake. And she was alone.

"So I brought her here and here we are. I guess my story was yours as well, wasn't it?"

His gaze unclouded as if coming out of a dream and landed on Hermione.

"But I am most displeased, Miss Granger, because you no longer bear the grandchild I so wished to torture. I suppose you shall suffer doubly for its sake."

* * *

As soon as lunchtime came around, Draco ran back to his common room. To hell with lunch! He had no other thought in his mind except to find out if something was wrong with Hermione, even if he had to end the self-inflicted silence between them. He banged on her door, which refused to open to his touch, but no one answered. He resorted to calling her name, pleading with her to open the door, but there was no sound from within. Pressing his ear against the door also proved futile as she had obviously silenced the room from the inside.

Whatever was wrong with her, he wasn't going to see her. Maybe if he got Ginny Weasley to try to talk to her, she would come out.

Draco went to his own room to try her door from the bathroom. Before he even stepped across the room, however, he noticed the eagle owl that signified correspondence from home. He rushed to the window where the bird sat idly and tore the note from its leg. It read:

_I have Granger. If you wish to see her alive once more, you will come to the manor alone. Do not speak to anyone about this letter before arriving. I will know, and she will be dead._

The letter was unsigned but Draco recognized the handwriting. He'd seen it since he was a child; he would know it anywhere.

He just didn't know how his mother had got her hands on Hermione.

Panic seizing his heart, fear making his limbs move slowly and awkwardly, Draco raced as fast as he could out of the portrait hole. He ran with only one thought in his head. _Nothing matters if she dies… Nothing matters if she dies… My life is over if she dies…_ He didn't stop until he'd passed Hogwarts's gates and Disapparated into thin air.

* * *

_So here's the dealio, chapter ten is all done and beta'd but I'm going to wait a couple weeks to post it! I still have to start chapter eleven, which will most likely definitely quite probably be the final chapter. So that's why I'm not posting nine and ten at the same time._

"What everyone claims to have seen when Potter killed me was exactly what I wanted them to see."_ Similar to what Jason Isaacs said at the Department of Mysteries in the Order of the Phoenix movie. The line always makes me laugh because of the way he says it._

_And I'm back on LiveJournal so if you've ever wondered about the life and times of I Dream of Draco, check it out. The link can be found in my profile, in the top left corner. I write about my day to day activities, thoughts, and about the status of the stories and chapters I'm working on. November is National Novel Writing month, which I will be participating in, and I'll be posting snippets of the fan fiction I'm going to write after DS is finished. So, take a look and friend me if you've got a LiveJournal too. I can't wait to hear from you there!_

_And don't forget to review. Reviews may inspire me to finish chapter eleven, and then I can post everything sooner. :P_


	10. Falling Apart

_November 23, 2008  
__Author's Note: Thanks mucho to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing.  
Disclaimer: See chapter one. Not mine no money._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Ten: Falling Apart**

_Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom._

What was that sound? It filled the entire dungeon like an echo of cannon fire. Lucius's eyes were supercilious, but he seemed unfazed. Narcissa cowered on the floor, her gaze affixed to her husband.

Didn't they hear it?

_Ba-boom. Ba-boom._

Her breathing sounded like wind, which perfectly complimented the way her mind swirled like a tempest, unable to focus, unable to think.

_"But I am most displeased, Miss Granger, because you no longer bear the grandchild I so wished to torture. I suppose you shall suffer doubly for its sake."_

That's right. Lucius had just said that, hadn't he?

That meant she was in danger.

She and her baby. He didn't know she still carried it, he couldn't see it because of the Fidelius Charm.

She couldn't decide if she'd be tortured less if he knew or not.

No. He couldn't know, because then his torture would be targeted at the baby. If she was lucky, he would be quick about it and the baby would not suffer too much before they died.

At least she would die. She was grateful for that. To have Draco ripped away from her by misunderstanding, by Pansy, by Fate, and then to lose her baby, her last and only link to him, would be unbearable to live through.

Death was preferable.

_Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom._

That sound! It was constant, in the background, and no one heard it? It kept time with her breaths; it measured the rhythm of her heart.

With startling clarity, she recognized the sound for what it was: the last beats of her heart. No wonder Lucius and Narcissa couldn't hear it; it only existed inside of her head, but it was so loud, certainly they would be able to if they just paid attention.

"But before we commence with the festivities," Lucius was saying now, "we must welcome a guest I've so graciously invited!"

A loud sob pierced the dungeon, cutting off the end of Lucius's statement. Narcissa raised a shaking hand to her mouth; her eyes were wide and blue and glossy. Her expression of absolute horror had no affect on her husband. Hermione speculated that he was not in his right mind. Maybe he'd lost it at the last battle of the war. He was more dangerous for losing it. Nothing would seem too brutal to him. Nothing was inhumane.

"We must give him a decent reception, so if you would be so kind, ladies, as to take this clock…"

His genial tone unnerved Hermione, and even though she didn't know where he was sending her, she received the broken alarm clock from him and held it out to Narcissa. She eyed it warily but also knew better than to refuse it, especially since to do so would leave her alone with Lucius in the dark dungeon. Her hand rested around the metal handle at the top of the clock and she closed her eyes to wait.

When the invisible hook tugged uncomfortably at her navel, Hermione registered that the clock was forever frozen at 2:42, when it had broken. As she swirled away into nothingness, towards an unknown destination, she wondered if the time frozen on the clock's face would also be the time of her death.

* * *

Draco stumbled when he appeared in front of the gate of the Malfoy land, his head and his heart too jumbled, too agonized to control his body's faculties. He knew this land like he knew himself. It was a part of himself. So it was no trouble for him to lower the wards around the gate to permit him to enter, only, he was stunned to find that the wards were not in place. Someone had taken the enchantments down to enter and had not bothered to replace them.

Steeling himself, he began the long trek up the drive that lead to the manor, jogging most of the way, trying to save his energy for whatever awaited him inside.

Hermione. His mother.

He hadn't known that his mother was capable of doing this. Why would she do it? She knew he was marrying Pansy. He'd sent letters to her, back and forth, in which he made sure to sound like he did not regret leaving Hermione. He thought she was under the impression that he was happy to marry Pansy.

But maybe she saw right through the charade. Maybe she knew that he didn't want to marry Pansy and she had taken drastic measures to get rid of his distraction. She didn't know about the pregnancy. He'd never told her. What if she had found out and that was why she had taken Hermione hostage?

His heart accelerated faster and faster the closer he got to the manor. His stomach was filled with physical dread. He wanted to throw it up, rid himself of his fear and illness, and maybe he would feel better.

Hermione used to throw up. Blood in the beginning, morning sickness in the end. When he'd loved her and when he'd left her. Stress and pregnancy. Curse and baby. Was there a connection? There must be, but he couldn't figure it out.

He shook his head and sprinted for the manor, needing to be inside _now_, needing to save Hermione. He realized that today everything was going to change. She would know that he still loved her, that he'd do anything to protect her. Would she forgive him? Would she understand?

The rows of windows on the second and third floors winked at him with reflected light from the sun, but the image of the building sent a cold shiver down his spine. The house was the opposite of warmth as long as the girl he loved was being held captive there.

The foyer was silent as he carefully walked inside, the only sound his shoes clattering against the tile floor. He held his wand at the ready though he couldn't imagine ever using it offensively against his own mother.

"Hello?" he called, not knowing where to go or how to find Hermione in the large house. He slowly walked down the hall that led to the stairs to the upper wings. From portraits hanging on the walls, past Malfoys eyed their descendent with wary and suspicious eyes. Draco wanted to ask them if they knew where Narcissa was, but the Slytherins that they were and the Malfoys that they were, he didn't think they would give him a straight answer.

"Mother? Hermione?" he called out, but received no reply.

He'd almost made it to the parlor when he heard a voice that he thought he would never hear ever again. He spun around and his father stood there, in the dim light of torches, looking as mad as a new patient at an insane asylum.

"Draco! My son! Look how you've grown. Quite the man you've become, haven't you?" he said graciously. He must be mad, Draco thought. He had never heard his father sound gracious. "Quite the man you've become," Lucius repeated to himself, eyeing his heir with heavy judgment.

Draco said nothing. His shock had not worn off yet and words would not come to him. He was wary of the man in front of him, who might have been his father once but was now so obviously demented that he couldn't be the same person.

"What? Nothing to say?" Lucius said, his voice turning sharp and angry all of a sudden.

"You… you did this? You were behind this?"

"It was I," he gloated proudly.

"Is Hermione even here?" Draco shouted.

"The Mudblood is here. Narcissa is watching her for me."

Draco's heart sank. He'd hoped he'd been wrong about Narcissa having something to do with this kidnapping and blackmail, but obviously she was involved as well.

"They are waiting for us, actually. You don't want to keep them waiting, do you?" He headed for the staircase, turning his back to Draco.

"Why did mother call me here? What do you want from me?" Draco snarled, unable to hold back.

Lucius paused and the smile that appeared on his face was similar to that of a jack-o-lantern, wide and frightening.

"We're having a bit of a party and the whole family is invited!"

* * *

Hermione's head spun. She waited for the dizziness to pass before taking in her surroundings. The room was larger than her room in the Head dormitory, with one wall completely dominated by a great wide window. A hulking bed jutted out from another wall, adorned with a slate-colored duvet and numerous pillows ranging in colors from black to white. An ancient looking writing desk, a couple of bookshelves, and a marble fireplace were all else in the vast space of the room.

Narcissa stood erect next to Hermione, positively seething.

"You _stupid_ girl! What are you doing here?"

This was the second time Narcissa had spoken to her as if this was all her fault. Her anger flared hotter than it would have had she not been in this stressful situation.

"I did not skip in here happily or of my own volition, Mrs. Malfoy! I was minding my own business when he _took_ me. I cannot help that I am here, or that this displeases you!"

"You did not know that he was hunting you? You could not guess?"

"How could I? I thought he was dead! Sometimes, at least."

"Speak plainly! I don't have the patience to deal with you!"

"_What would you like me to say?_ I knew all along and gave no thought to my safety or the safety of my child? Do not assume that I think so little of my life or my baby's! Draco told me that _you_ said Lucius was dead so I believed him! Do not blame me for your presence here!"

Furious as she was, the astonishment on Narcissa's face cooled her temper.

"What?" Hermione grumbled in annoyance.

"For one thing, I do not blame you that I am here. I made many mistakes that led to this point, and that is no one's fault but my own. But for the other… You—you are still carrying Draco's baby?"

Hermione's anger suddenly disappeared.

"I… I am. I wasn't going to give it up. It's _Draco's_; it's too precious to… to… No, I would never do that," she replied quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. She stuck her hand into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a scrap of parchment, one of many that she carried with her everywhere just in case, and handed it to Narcissa.

Mrs. Malfoy read the secret written onto it by Hermione and watched with growing bewilderment as her rotund stomach suddenly became visible to her.

"Seven months along… if anything were to happen to me, I had to make sure Healers would be able to attend to both of us, so I stuff my pockets with the secret phrase to lift the Fidelius Charm Professor Dumbledore placed on me. You can understand why I had to keep it a secret, can't you?"

Narcissa composed herself, much like her son used to do after a great shock. "Of course I understand. Am I to assume that Draco still does not know?"

Hermione nodded and wandered away from the center of the room. The bed looked so inviting, she wished she could climb in and go to sleep. She felt like she hadn't slept in days, and besides being unconscious when she'd been abducted, she couldn't remember the last time she _had_ slept.

She glanced out the window, which looked out on the front lawns, and her heart jumped painfully as she saw someone running down the drive towards the manor. The bright glint of silver created by the sun on his hair gave him away immediately. She pounded on the windowpanes screaming his name, but he never slowed. Hearing her sudden outburst, Narcissa joined her, but didn't bother calling out to her son. At one point, Draco looked up and seemed to look right at Hermione, but he looked away again and disappeared under the eaves of the house.

"What is he doing here?" Hermione sobbed, her face falling into her hands.

"Lucius forced me to write him, telling him that I had taken you and that he had to come to the manor to see you one last time. Lucius plans on killing you in front of him. He'll probably kill us afterwards, too, I suspect," Narcissa answered in a monotone. "I suppose I can see some irony in this, though."

"What irony?" Hermione asked. Her voice spiked in desolation.

"Draco will die never knowing that he was to have a child, never knowing that I had not planned this at all. He'll die never knowing what he almost had with you. He'll die hating me." She turned her head away from the window to look at Hermione. "You know he loves you, right? I never should have pushed him towards Pansy. She isn't suited for him at all. I see that now."

"I should have told him I was pregnant," Hermione said bleakly. "I should have fought for him even if I thought he wasn't mine to fight for." She glanced around her again, at the neat books on their shelves, the tidy desk, the perfectly made bed. She noticed some photos on the writing desk and she crossed the room to investigate. Narcissa was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable with her quiet distress. Hermione wanted one of them to start raging, fighting, looking for some means of escape. Hermione couldn't do it; she had her baby to protect, and she would protect it until the moment she died. But Narcissa could at least have more hope of finding an escape. Unless she didn't think it was possible; unless she didn't care if they did.

The photos on the desk were portraits. Looking austere and lovely, Narcissa sat in a regal chair inside her frame moving only to yawn. Her hair, twisted into some sort of chignon, seemed to glow with an inner light. Another photograph contained the image of Lucius, though he was so different from the man Hermione had seen barely fifteen minutes ago, that she couldn't imagine them being one and the same. The image of Lucius smirked at her. He looked well groomed from his head to the shiny boot that rocked from his knee where he crossed his leg, looking bored and haughty.

A third photo caught her eye. Three children stood next to each other: a black boy, a white boy, and a girl. They looked no older than seven, but Hermione couldn't really tell. Hermione recognized the girl by her wide, squished nose—pug-faced. Pansy waved at the camera with her right hand but all the while, her left was trying to capture the hand of the boy next to her. Draco. Hermione's eyes softened as she looked upon the image of him as a child. She'd never seen him this young; she'd met him for the first time when they were eleven. He scowled at the camera and glared at Pansy, jerking his hand away from her as if she were diseased. The laughing, smirking boy next to him had to be Blaise, and Hermione regretted that she had never taken the chance to get to know him better.

Hermione turned away from the photographs. They represented a totally different life; one that she had never been a part of. When those pictures had been taken, Hermione hadn't even known she was a witch yet. She didn't like looking at them because the difference between them and the present reality was so vast, so startling. It pained her to see Draco's little family in a more peaceful time—well, a more peaceful time for them—when his whole family was going to be obliterated today.

Narcissa eyed her watchfully as she faced the woman again. Hermione found she was distinctly uncomfortable under her scrutiny and quickly looked away. Rubbing her stomach as if to soothe herself, Hermione ambled in the direction of the cozy looking bed. She sank onto the mattress, weary from the day, and it was so soft she seemed almost to fall completely through the bed.

"Now, do you know whose room we are in, Hermione?" Narcissa asked softly, startling Hermione by using her name for the first time.

"I never asked in the first place," she replied. Narcissa ignored her.

"I'm surprised you didn't guess. My husband seems to have gained a flair for the dramatic since he went mad. I'm not sure what he hopes to accomplish using this room, though." Her thoughts seemed to turn inward then.

"I don't understand," Hermione said warily. To her, Narcissa was becoming as mad as her husband. Though, she conceded, maybe knowing that your hours left in the world could be counted on one hand could do that to you.

"I think you do, somewhere inside that supposedly brilliant mind of yours." Narcissa met her eyes again, returning from her pondering. "Lucius is doing this to get back at Draco and me as much as to hurt you. Well, maybe me more so than you. I think you just got dragged into this—guilty by association and whatnot—and Draco got dragged into it because you did. It's hard to tell.

"Anyway, I don't know if he plans to let Draco live after he kills us, but he's made sure that if he does survive, he will be haunted by this day for the rest of his life."

"How's that?" Hermione asked, a sick feeling growing in her stomach. She could guess several ways that Draco might be haunted by their deaths, and all of those ways were very painful for Narcissa and Hermione.

"You see," Narcissa began, holding her hands aloft, inviting the pregnant girl to look around them one more time, "this is Draco's bedroom, and we're going to die here with Draco as witness."

* * *

Lucius used a wand to unlock the door and then shoved it open, waiting for Draco to enter. Peering inside cautiously, Draco was met with a nasty shock. He had been too lost in his thoughts, too wary of an attack or trick from his father to notice where he was being led. He hadn't expected to be shown into his own bedroom.

And even though he had come to save her, he had not expected to find Hermione sitting stiffly on his bed. She looked as startled to see him as he was to see her, but her eyes were downcast with some distress he couldn't name, though, of course, she must be distressed to be there against her will. Draco wanted nothing more than for this situation to be real. It felt more like a dream to him; he couldn't imagine that they were together again—finally!—under duress, their lives hanging in the balance between them, Lucius swinging above them like a guillotine.

In his reality, Draco would meet Hermione on the bed. He would drown in it with her. He would never let her go and they would be more alive than anyone could ever hope to be. In his reality they would be alone and she would still be pregnant. They would tease each other about their future. His ring would be on her finger so it wouldn't matter if the details of their plans were hazy, as long as it stayed there.

In his reality, they would be together and unafraid of threat. Carefree. In love. They would be perfect and she simply perfection.

Unfortunately, his reality was a dream, and this nightmare he was living was the reality.

Hermione stood up from the bed awkwardly. She was strangely unbalanced and ungainly. He wondered if she'd been hit in the head and his anger flared at his parents' deceit. Lucius may have been the mastermind behind this operation, but his mother had helped and he could not forgive her for it. He'd thought she was better than that, but obviously not.

Their gazes refused to disconnect. This moment felt like the first moment they had seen each other since that day in the storage closet when he'd emotionally shoved her aside so mistakenly. Of course, that wasn't true. He'd seen her every single day—he'd made sure that he had and he had watched her very carefully. They'd worked together in Potions, even, but all of those instances had been empty. They had not been free to behave as they wanted, to say what they wanted, to do as they wanted. Apart and even together they had been separated in every way people can be separated. But now they were forced to acknowledge each other and the fact that she was there because of him and he because of her.

"Lucius, don't… please don't hurt him…please…" Narcissa's voice was the only thing that could have pulled Draco's attention away from Hermione. He remembered his anger at her from a moment ago when she began pleading with Lucius, appealing to him by clutching his arm. Lucius jerked his arm away from her and strode towards the foot of the bed. Hermione took a few startled steps back.

"I don't have to hurt him, _dear_, but it's his decision whether he lives or dies," Lucius said. He approached Hermione, backing her up against the bed. Draco wanted to throw himself between them, he wanted to rip Hermione away from Lucius, but he dared not move. He was not in control here, his father was, and he couldn't risk her life by doing something foolish.

Hermione squirmed, turning her head when Lucius's fingertips gently stroked her jaw and then tilted her face up by her chin. She clenched her eyes shut and pressed her lips firmly together.

"Do you know why you are here, Draco?" Lucius asked, shoving Hermione away from him suddenly. She fell backwards on the bed, gasping in surprise. Her hands pressed into her stomach, clutching her abdomen protectively, or maybe in pain, Draco wasn't sure.

He wanted to say, _I'm here to save Hermione,_ but that was obvious. It was clearer to him now that this was all a trap for him; Hermione never had to be involved.

"No," he replied instead.

"You see nothing wrong with what you've done? With how you've behaved?" Lucius's eyes became dark and dangerous, a strange fire lighting up their cold icy depths. "You're as filthy as your Mudblood whore. I'm ashamed to call you Malfoy! _I've_ brought you here today to teach you a lesson. Malfoys do not consort with Muggles! They do not have half-blood progeny! You are lucky the Mudblood took care of the bastard before I got to it!

"I will give you one chance to save yourself, Draco. The Mudblood will die no matter what you choose. Your mother will die because of her own choices. You can't save either of them. Do you want to live? All you have to do is kill the girl yourself. Kill her and embrace your name and everything it symbolizes… and you can live! If you refuse, I will kill you both. What will you do, Draco? What will you do?"

Draco stared at his father, whose mind, with every word he spoke, seemed to unravel some more. His hair was disheveled and wild, his eyes wide with insanity. Draco didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to think. So his father was going to kill them all, even his accomplice. He did know what he was going to do, he just didn't know how to save any of their lives.

"I won't do it. Life is not worth living if she"—he gestured at Hermione who was shaking and pale—"is dead."

"What a pity. Such waste! You had such potential, my son. I don't know how you strayed from your path." Somehow, he looked genuinely sorry, though Draco couldn't imagine he was sorry for his wasted life but for what his life meant to the Malfoy line.

"It wasn't my path. It was yours. You forced me to walk on it and when you were gone, I found my own road." And he had found someone to walk down it with him until he'd separated from her at a fork in that road. And then he was alone.

"_The Malfoys' roads are the same! There are no divergences_!" Lucius yelled. "_Expelliarmus_!" The wand Draco had carried with him throughout the house flew out of his hand and into Lucius's.

"You!" he screamed at Hermione, swinging the wand in her direction. Without a word, without a sound, without a blast of light, Hermione rose in the air and was tossed against the opposite wall with a cry of shock. Draco called her name, but she crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Narcissa ran to her side.

"NO! Get away from her!" Draco screamed, pushing his mother aside.

"You can't stop fate, Draco!" Lucius roared. "You have a place in the world and you must take it!"

Narcissa crawled to Draco's side and called his name softly. Draco ignored her, just cradled Hermione's body in his arms.

"Draco! She's _bleeding_!" she cried.

His breathing stuttered as he surveyed her body, but he could not find the blood or the source.

"It's here." Narcissa had Hermione's robe hiked up high around her thighs. The blood flowed from between her legs. He stared speechlessly until his mother met his eyes. She searched around her pockets and then stuffed something in Draco's hand."Your turn, my sweet. I've been looking forward to this for months. Haven't you?" Lucius crooned to Narcissa.

She said nothing, but watched Draco as he opened the parchment and read the six astonishing words instead.

_I, Hermione Jean Granger, am pregnant._

And she literally blossomed before his eyes, opening and unfolding like a budding flower. In a few seconds he was holding a woman in his arms, a heavily pregnant woman.

And he knew that that blood was not a good sign. Suddenly, he felt dampness on his lap and her robes became soaked with it, with everything, with nothing. He didn't know what was happening. Hermione began screaming though she remained unconscious. He looked to Narcissa for help, his expression desperate and pleading. Her eyes were wide with what he could only call fear. His own was reflected in her eyes.

Impatient and angered by them ignoring him, Lucius grabbed Narcissa's arm and yanked her from the floor.

"I said _your turn." _Neither of them listened to him as he repeated himself menacingly. They were more afraid for Hermione than themselves.

"Draco," his mother breathed. "Draco… her water has broken! She's going into labor!"

"_Don't! Ignore! Me!_ I am Lucius Malfoy!" Lucius shook Narcissa violently by her arm and then pushed her as hard as he could onto the floor, pointing a shaking wand at her forehead.

Draco stared at the hopeless scene around him with despair, which quickly turned into absolute and blinding rage. The girl he loved was unconscious in his arms and he'd just found out that she had kept their child. He was going to lose them both so soon after finding them again if he didn't do something! This was Lucius's doing and he was _going to pay for it_. Hermione couldn't die. He wouldn't let her.

Gently placing Hermione on the floor, Draco stood up carefully. He literally saw red; his whole body seethed with anger and pain and fire. He could feel heat surging throughout his veins, where his blood ran pure—as pure as his parents' blood, as pure as Hermione's, as pure as the beggar man's on the street, or the oblivious Muggle's in London. Lucius didn't look at Draco until he was shouting.

"_Expelliarmus!_" A great burst of magic threw Lucius across the room, where he crashed into the writing desk. Draco's hand was already held out when the wands flew directly into his waiting palm. "Help Hermione!" he shouted at Narcissa, who looked upon her son with fear for the first time in her life.

Draco trusted her to save Hermione and the baby. _He_ had another matter to attend to.

Lucius, for the first time in his life as well, gaped at his son with fear apparent on his face. Draco's rage took control, his magic the only outlet for the fury. And lucky for him, he had three wands with which to yield this incandescent magic…

Lucius was going to pay dearly for what he'd done, and Draco was going to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget.

* * *

Hermione felt the pain like fire and she couldn't breathe for the pain and the panic. Her baby was dying. They were dying. She couldn't see anything but she could hear, and someone was screaming.

"Help Hermione!" someone shouted. The voice was so familiar. It filled her with hope and longing and sadness though she couldn't remember why. Cool hands fluttered around her face, lifted her body into a lap, but she couldn't see, she couldn't see.

One thought was clear to her. She had to escape, because to stay here meant to live with pain, to die. She would rather die somewhere else, away from horror. She'd rather suffer in calm than here where she couldn't breathe for fear. She could fly. She knew how. She had learned. Healer Falconbridge had told her that transforming into her Animagus form would not harm the baby, but she had refrained from doing it since she registered. Hermione had not wanted to risk it. But now... she could do it now, and if the baby died when she transformed—well, it was a better death than if she stayed here.

Hermione tried to focus through the pain and the fear. The screaming had stopped suddenly and she wondered if she had been the screamer. In her mind, she could see the image of the mockingbird which shaped her soul. She could hear it singing and feel its wings as it took off into the air, flapping for the door, the window, any means of escape. In her head, she became the mockingbird. She _was _the one singing. She _was_ the one escaping.

But her form did not shift. She still felt pain and horror. She still heard that welcome voice shouting on the other side of the room, while someone murmured above her, trying to comfort but panicked. Whimpering, she clutched onto the image of the bird with her mind and tried to force herself to change. There was no surge of magic through her veins that signified her transformation. There was nothing.

Her magic was gone.

* * *

_Woof. It's all messed up isn't it? Hermione and Narcissa think Draco doesn't know about the pregnancy. Draco thinks his mother doesn't know. Ginny knows that Draco knows, but didn't tell Hermione..._

_Chapter 11 is in the process of being written. I have no idea when it will be finished. Keep an eye on my LiveJournal for updates on that. Reviews feed the muse! Review if you liked it!_


	11. At Last

_January 21, 2009  
Disclaimer: See chapter one. Not mine, no money.  
Author's Note: Here is chapter the last. Review if you like it! Thanks so, so, so much to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing! I will post the epilogue in a few days._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: At Last**

Sound and sight were twisted, confused entities that Hermione could not understand when she next became conscious. There was pain. Oh yes, there was pain, which added to her disorientation and fear.

Lucius Malfoy was nearby. She had tried to escape but she had not been able to command her magic to transform herself into the bird form that would enable her to flee. She had blacked out then, unable to take the pain or the fear of her unknown fate, leaving Draco to fight Lucius alone. Her head throbbed, incapable of making sense of the pain. Her sight blurred and the room around her spun. Not that she could see anything anyway; a blindingly white backdrop surrounded her, but she could feel the dizziness of the spinning room in her head and in her stomach. It was there, mixed with the pain that originated in her abdomen and grew until she was numb with it, until her body was on fire.

Only now did she recognize sound jumbled with the pain and her limited sight. Voices that appeared to come from far away invaded her mind, confusing her more, increasing the pounding in her head.

_"I don't see anything wrong with…"_

_"…traces of magic…"_

_"…must be something there!"_

None of it made sense to her. Without an image to connect the words to, she was at a loss as to what they meant.

And then she heard something that broke through the confusion, the only thing she recognized in the amalgamated mass of senses.

_"Dumbledore is coming."_

_"Dumbledore?"_

Dumbledore! Certainly he could fix her broken eyes and make the unbearable pain go away? Certainly he could do it?

"Miss Granger?" Suddenly her blurred and shaky vision was overflowing with a snowy white beard and blue eyes filled with concern behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore.

"Make it go away!" she cried, but she never heard the words leave her mouth so she didn't know if she actually said them.

"I tried to tell them, but I couldn't! It wouldn't come out!" She knew that voice. She would recognize it anywhere. Her body would respond to it in sleep, in unconsciousness, and in death. It was responding now, trying to reach for the voice to comfort her as nothing else could.

"I know, Mr. Malfoy. Don't worry. I'll take care of this."

Hermione didn't know what happened then but the sounds around her changed. There were gasps followed by silence and then the urgent sounds of people rushing to fulfill tasks. She whimpered and tried to reach for Draco but she didn't know where he was and the pain made it impossible for her to move.

Her senses became clearer as the pain got sharper. The voices became more distinct, her sight settled and unclouded. Her eyes roamed in their sockets looking for the flash of blond hair that would be her only solace. The pain wouldn't even matter as long as she had Draco with her.

"_I'm sorry, but you will have to leave."_

"_Leave?_ I can't leave! This is my baby! My Her—"

A hand snatched hers from wherever it was laying. She could feel the hot fingers enclosed around her cold ones.

_"I'm sorry. Professor?"_

"Mr. Malfoy. There is nothing we can do here."

"I won't go!"

"Think of Miss Granger. It will only cause her pain for you to see her like this."

Hermione whimpered. No, no, no, _no_. It would cause her pain for him to leave her! What did she care how she looked as long as she knew he was there?

"Hermione?"

"No!" she moaned and repeated it in a pitiful, crying voice. "No, no, no!"

"Mr. Malfoy, you are in the way here. We can't help her if you are a distraction. Please, for the baby's sake and for hers…"A Healer was speaking. Hermione wanted to slap her.

"Hermione." And then his glorious face was the only thing that she could see. Tears threatened to obscure her vision but she fought them back furiously, refusing to be blind to the one person she wanted to see. His face was screwed up in pain that must have equaled hers just to see his expression, and there was concern that she knew stemmed from his love. Of course he loved her. There was no doubt about it now. No matter what had happened to them in the past, it was evident that the only right thing, the only correct thing in the world was that they needed to be together.

"I'll be right outside. I'm not leaving you. I won't leave you again. Alright? Do you understand?"

She nodded as the tears spilled over from the pain attacking her in every direction: the physical pain coursing through her body, the emotional pain taking Draco's place in her heart.

"Yours," she cried, unsure what she was trying to say. "All yours."

"Mine. I'm coming back for it."

She wiped her eyes and shook her head from side to side. The pain, the unbearable pain was too much for her to take. She covered her eyes with her arm, tried to wipe away the tears but felt more relief by blocking out the impersonal whiteness of the room.

She felt his lips press down on her arm and then his hand moved it off her face so he could kiss her lips. She responded slowly noting how their kiss tasted of salt and tears. If she had been more emotionally stable, she would have treasured the kiss, made it last longer. It was their first one in months and months. Hermione had never felt so whole and so broken as she did when he pulled away.

The pain came at her from all sides and engulfed her. Consciousness trickled away once again as the Healers swarmed around her in their lime green robes, effectively shunning Albus Dumbledore and Draco Malfoy from their midst.

* * *

Dumbledore escorted him away from the delivery room and down the hall to the sitting area where visitors waited. Draco was unaware of the headmaster's hand clutching his shoulder tightly, as if to prevent him from turning around and running back to Hermione's side. He wanted to do it. But _dammit_ he wanted to do it. He wasn't aware of anything as they walked away at their brisk pace. His thoughts totally and completely revolved around Hermione and how he had failed her and their baby. Even the thought that Lucius was now in the custody of the Ministry did not soothe him, because even if his father had been half-dead by the time any help had arrived at the manor, he was still somewhere in the hospital with them being treated for being a worthless piece of scum.

Draco wanted him to die. He was not the same man he had been when Draco was growing up. He had been stern and demanding, of course, but doting in his own way. The man that Lucius had become was a danger to everyone that Draco loved, and he would gladly sacrifice his deranged father for those people.

Dumbledore pushed open a pair of swinging doors and Draco was immediately ambushed. All he could see was a flash of bright red hair before two thin arms enveloped him in a bone-crushing embrace that he did not expect coming from the youngest Weasley child.

"We should have watched her better! I asked her if she needed me to walk back with her but she snapped at me so I let her go! I should have just gone! I should have made sure she made it back to the castle safely!" Ginny Weasley cried into his shoulder, her hot tears soaking his school robes.

He detached himself from her oppressive arms stiffly and glared at her as hard as he could. "You should have! She—she wouldn't be here if—if…" But everyone sitting in the waiting room could see that he was not capable of being cold to her. He was broken and it astonished them because they had never seen him like this before.

Ginny released him and rubbed her eyes. She turned to sit in a chair between her father and her boyfriend and curled herself against Harry's side.

Standing hesitantly in front of him now was a woman with curly chestnut-colored hair and behind her, a hostile sandy-haired man in glasses. Draco vaguely recognized them from an outing to Diagon Alley the summer before his second year, but even if he hadn't, he would have seen Hermione's features in both of them and known instantly who they were.

"Draco, right?" Mrs. Granger asked. He nodded faintly, barely acknowledging that she was there until she had her arms wrapped around him. His nose was buried in her thick hair and he closed his eyes, remembering how he used to bury his face in her daughter's hair as they shared his bed every night. "You saved her! Thank you. You saved her."

These were not the words he expected her to say. He really didn't know what he thought she would say. He never imagined himself confronting Hermione's parents and he was at a loss about what he should do now.

"I didn't." The words slipped out. He never meant to say them. If the daft woman wanted to thank him for Hermione being where she was now, he bloody well should have let her. "She's here because of me."

"Exactly! Who knows what would have happened to her if you and your mother hadn't saved her."

Draco recoiled at the mention of his mother. He still didn't know what her part in all of this was. He was confused by Mrs. Granger's words. Mr. Granger's expression was more of what he had expected.

"She's hurt and… and… well, this is _all_ because of _him_," he said to his wife savagely. But she ignored him and smiled at Draco, rubbing his face gently. There was pain etched in her face and he wondered if she was being kind to him because of it. Anything to combat the pain inside, he thought.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted their meeting.

"Albus?" she asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore sighed sadly and spoke for the first time since they'd left the delivery room. "She hasn't sustained any permanent _injuries_, but…"

"But what?" Ron prompted savagely. It was clear by the way he was glaring at Draco that he blamed the blond man completely for Hermione's condition, whatever it was.

"She's lost her magic." There was a collective gasp. Draco stared at the wizened old man as if he'd never seen him before in his life and just now realized what an oddball he really was. He had not known that Hermione had lost her magic. "Her Healers think the stress and the shock that she had endured over the past twenty-four hours caused her body to suppress her magic, and that she might regain it with some rest and no agitation."

Ron pointed a figure at Draco from his chair, his face a horrible mask of hate. "_There_. She's a Muggle now! Obviously not good enough for the great Draco Malfoy, so why don't you leave her alone? She'd be much better off without you!"

Draco stared at him blankly. What he was saying was ludicrous. Couldn't he see that there was no possible way that he and Hermione could be apart? The only way he could function, the only way he could breathe easily was if he was with her. He hadn't slept properly in months without her by his side.

"I can't," he said simply, a hint of desperation in his voice that most everyone could hear.

Ginny piped up then, too quickly to just be curious—she was probably trying to cut her brother off from arguing with him. "Professor Dumbledore, what about…"

He understood immediately. "They won't know about the baby until it is delivered." Draco flinched.

"_Baby!_" Ron and the Weasley parents shrieked. Ron shot up from his chair and stared at Draco with all the intensity of a dragon protecting its nest.

"She's…she's…"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. For the past several months, Miss Granger has been under a Fidelius Charm that I placed on her. It was her choice to do so."

"You did this to her!" Ron shouted, rounding on Draco, coming nose to nose with him. "All of this is because of you!"

Draco closed his eyes and waited for the punch, but it never came.

"Ron, sit down," Ginny said.

"_You knew?_"

"Harry and I both knew. Hermione didn't tell _you_ because she knew you would behave just like this! Stop acting like she's done this just to hurt you and sit down. Can't you see he's hurting enough already?"

They all could see it, especially in his wide, grey eyes that stared at nothing and brimmed with tears that did not fall. He stood where he had been since entering the sitting area looking like the softest breath could knock him down, looking hopeless and guilty and so very alone. He was frightening this way, with his bloodstained robes and his face so pale that he looked nearly translucent. He swayed on his feet as if unable to keep himself standing, as if he only did so through the force of his will, which was quickly draining from him along with his energy.

Mrs. Weasley approached him. She put her arms around his shoulders, tucking his head against her voluptuous chest and looked at Dumbledore gravely.

"Will he be alright?"

"Fine, I should think. The Healers said he is suffering from shock, mostly. He refused to let them help him, though. Maybe if he ate something, he'd be back to rights." Dumbledore touched his shoulder again and squeezed it gently. "Mr. Malfoy, I am going to see your mother. Would you like to come along?"

His reply was quick and vehement. "I don't want to speak to her." And in a softer voice he said, "I told Hermione I would be right here."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, my dear boy. Molly, if you should need me, just contact the receptionist on the fourth floor."

She nodded. As Dumbledore disappeared down another corridor, Mrs. Weasley shepherded Draco to the chair next to her, keeping his face buried in her side. She rocked him from side to side as if he was one of her own children and sang a lullaby under her breath. They were all silent until Ginny's sobs broke loose and shook the quiet, and then Draco lost the last shred of his self-control and cried quietly into Mrs. Weasley's side.

* * *

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he heard the muttered voices around him.

"This boy is in love with her!"

"It seems that way."

"In _love_? You haven't seen the way he's treated her, Mrs. Granger! Like scum!"

Draco stopped himself from fidgeting. He didn't know who was speaking but he knew whom they were speaking about, and the words just sounded absurd.

"You've got it wrong, Ron." Draco recognized this voice and a sneer formed on his face involuntarily.

"Oh so you're Draco bloody Malfoy's best friend now, are you?"

"Ron! That's not necessary!"

"I'm not his best friend! You should have heard the way Hermione talked about him. They both made mistakes. It was all a big misunderstanding."

"And that makes it okay for him to treat her like scum?"

Potter sighed in exasperation. Draco wanted to too but he didn't want to alert anyone to the fact that he was awake yet.

"You pay attention to the wrong things."

"_I_ pay attention to the wrong things?"

"Well, I think he's mad for her. He seems sincerely sorry that she's hurt." Draco felt this voice rumbling from the body he was half draped over. Mrs. Weasley, he thought.

"_I_ know she's in love with him. You should have read the letters she wrote about him," the first person he had heard speak said. He thought now was a good time to wake up, so he squirmed restlessly in the uncomfortable chair before sitting up and opening his eyes.

They all stared at him with wide-eyed apprehension, though he had no idea what they were apprehensive about. Ginny was asleep at Potter's side, who played with her hair and gave Draco an apologetic look. Ron had his arms crossed over his chest and turned his head away. Mr. Granger looked like he wanted to copy him, while Hermione's mother and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave him sympathetic looks.

"I brought you something to eat," the Muggle woman said as she stood from her chair and handed Draco a wrapped sandwich. He didn't feel the least bit hungry, but he took it from her to keep from appearing rude and muttered his thanks. She seemed pleased as she sat back down again.

As he peeled the napkin away from the sandwich, he discovered turkey and cheese and took a small bite out of it. Peeking up at the three parents who could stand to look at him, he noted that Mrs. Granger smiled widely at him as he ate and he felt warm inside for making her so happy for no reason.

"Granger?" a Healer called from the pair of swinging doors Draco and Dumbledore had walked through who knew how long ago. He choked on the small bite of sandwich he had just taken and they all sat up straighter, Harry shaking Ginny awake.

Hermione's parents had stood up when their name was called. The Healer approached them and offered her hand.

"I'm Healer Falconbridge. Your daughter is just fine! Got herself in a bit of a sticky mess though, didn't she?" The Healer chuckled to herself, but the Grangers looked less than appreciative.

"The baby?" Mrs. Granger asked darkly.

"A boy! We'll need to keep him for observation. Goodness, yes! He's nearly four weeks early. We'll want to make sure there are no complications and all. Now, I think Mrs. Granger is ready for some visitors. One at a time, now. How about you first, deary?" The Weasleys and the Grangers looked at the Healer as if she had gone off her rocker, because Mrs. Granger was clearly standing in front of her, but they said nothing.

Draco had stood up to go see Hermione. Of course he would be the one to go, but Healer Falconbridge had grabbed Mrs. Granger's elbow and was pulling her away down the corridor hidden behind the swinging doors. He stared after them in disbelief. He knew that he had made mistakes and done Hermione wrong, he knew that she was her mother, but it still incited in him tremendous anger that _he_ of all people had been overlooked. Not only was he a Malfoy, but he was the baby's father!

Barely a minute later, Mrs. Granger rushed back through the door with Healer Falconbridge spluttering on her heels. Her eyes landed on Draco and she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward the doors.

"She'll see no one but you, of course."

"This is highly inappropriate!" the Healer said, but Draco ignored her and took off down the hall. He was pointed in the direction of Hermione's recovery room and then he burst in, closing the door soundly on Healer Falconbridge's scandalized face.

"Draco?"

He turned around and suddenly found himself at a loss. They had waited for this moment—the single moment where they could be together and alone—for ages and now he found himself embarrassed and uncertain. Despite what her mum had said, maybe she didn't want to see him. Maybe she had misread her own daughter.

"Are you alright?" he found himself asking as his feet carried him towards her bed where she was laying limply.

"You're finally here?"

He waved his hand in the air as if swatting at a fly and scowled disapprovingly. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes gazed over him with the intensity of a woman staring at a sumptuous feast as she slowly starved to death, and at any other time he would have preened at such attention from anyone. Now, he felt like the leftovers, the scraps that were fed to the dog, someone wholly unworthy of such a stare from her.

But feast or scraps, she was starving wasn't she? And any of him would do, it seemed.

"Now that you are here, I am," she replied timidly.

Slowly, he sat himself down on the bed, trying not to jostle her too much for fear that he would unintentionally hurt her in some way. Taking her hands in his own to hide the trembling in his fingers, he asked her, "And… the baby?"

Her eyes jumped from their clasped hands to his face as if surprised. "They—they took him away from me. They said he was weak. You should have seen him. He's just so—so frail looking, so tiny and breakable."

Her eyes flooded with tears and Draco didn't know what to do. He couldn't get their son back this instant, not if he needed the Healers' attention. Lifting her hands to his lips and pressing light kisses to her skin, he replied solemnly, "Don't worry. We'll get him back."

"You don't know that!" she cried. His eyes widened at her urgency. "What if he… What if he…"

He could feel his expression harden like stone and his voice was flat and cold when he spoke. "He won't. Or I'll sue whichever incompetent Healer was in charge of him for every penny they own and make sure they never heal again. Not my son."

Draco couldn't name the emotion in Hermione's eyes as her head shook back and forth infinitesimally. He could tell that she either didn't believe him or thought he was being foolish. And maybe he was, but what else could he say? He didn't know if their baby was going to live, but he knew that he wanted it to. It couldn't _die_ before he even had the chance to meet him or hold him.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Did—did you name him?"

She nodded and he nodded back absently, slightly disappointed. He shoved that emotion aside, knowing there would be more children for him to name later. His body froze when his mind caught up with the thought. Was he ready to marry Hermione right now? Did he really want a houseful of children with her?

Yes, he did, and not just because it would be the right thing to do in this case. But did she want to marry him after he behaved like an utter bastard towards her?

She squeezed his hands slightly and he looked up to see her eyeing him shrewdly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked her as tears filled her eyes again.

"Yes, I'm fine!" she answered shrilly, but somehow he thought that she was not fine and he was possibly asking the wrong question.

In an attempt to placate her, he released her hands and reached into his robes, pulling out a familiar Vinewood wand. "Look, I have your wand!"

She took it from him carefully, still looking teary-eyed, and twirled it in her lap. Her head was bowed with her hair forming a curtain around her face so that he could not see her expression. Draco was confused and somewhat mortified. His hands itched to reach out and grab her, to pull her into his chest and never let her go. But she obviously did not want him there.

"There are so many people in the waiting room…" he said, perched on the edge of her bed as if to flee. She noticed his anxiety and tension and bit her lip as she frowned. "They're just waiting to see you."

"Let them wait!" she cried, her eyes wide and stricken. "Why haven't you touched me yet? Why haven't you kissed me?"

His heart pounded, the sound reverberating in his head. They both heard the sigh that he released even if he was unaware of doing so. Words left his mouth without asking him for permission; he had no idea what he was saying until it was said.

"I have touched you."

"Not enough! It's not nearly enough," she whispered. He was silent for several moments, watching her carefully.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

But now he did, so he pushed through the vast gulf of uncertainty and pain and time that stood between them and instead of pulling her towards him, he used her body as leverage to pull himself against her. Her hands fluttered hesitantly on his chest and his shoulders before she resolutely draped them around his neck and tugged him as close as she could. Their lips still had not yet touched, but Draco remedied that immediately, and with all the carefulness of a giant in a goblin's house, crashed his lips to hers.

* * *

They talked, heedless of the other people waiting in the sitting area beyond Hermione's door. They talked about everything they never had the chance to say while they were separated for so many months. They refrained from speaking of the future because their future together was something that could not exist until they could reconcile with their past.

Teary-eyed, Hermione told him that she had no more magic, and he whispered that he knew. And then he kissed her forehead gently to reassure her that it didn't matter, followed by whispered reassurances that it would come back. Hermione tried to argue, just as she had tried to argue about their baby's chances of living, but Draco did not let her disagree and distracted her the best way he knew how.

"You have to thank your mother for me," she murmured as she pulled away from his embrace, intoxicated by his kisses and his words.

Draco stiffened. "My mother?"

"Mmhm. I wish we'd had a daughter to name after her. It's the least we could do."

"What about my mother?"

Hermione looked into his eyes uncertainly. She knew how much he cared for Narcissa, she had seen his devotion, but the tense way he held his body now contradicted what she knew about his feelings for her.

"Your father kidnapped her because of us. Well, and because of her too, but she was there, at your house, partly because of the baby and us. And when I told her that I was still pregnant, she accepted it almost immediately. She told me she never should have tried to push Pansy onto you."

This was news to Draco, of course, and his incredulity showed on his face.

"She was horrible to me the first time I told her, but I know now she only did so to protect herself and me, because your father stayed by her side in the hospital room night and day." Another look at Draco's face and Hermione frowned. "You didn't know?"

"No. Wait, you told my mother you were pregnant?"

Hermione blushed. "I—I wanted someone to be able to tell you someday that you had a child. She was the only person I trusted enough to tell, because I knew how much you cared for each other."

"You ridiculous, insane witch," he muttered before he leaned over her in her hospital bed and pressed his lips to her again for the thousandth time. They did no more talking for quite a while.

* * *

It was nearly half an hour later that a Healer came in holding a blue bundle, saying, "Miss Granger? He needs feeding and we'd like you to try breast-feeding him. He'll get stronger drinking his mother's milk."

"Alright," she said, blushing.

The Healer gently handed the baby over into Hermione's expectant arms. Her blush lit her entire face as she adjusted the neck of her hospital robes and muttered to Draco, "Couldn't you look away for a moment?"

Draco was mesmerized by the idea of his baby feeding from her, not in the least because he envied him, but he turned his head away until she could get settled and then his gaze fell back on mother and child.

The Healer left, promising to return in a few minutes before, smirking, Draco commented, "I could get used to this."

Hermione glared. "Draco Malfoy, I am never ever having sex with you ever again, so don't you get any thoughts in your head!"

He shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. "I'm sure you'll change your mind."

"Never," she grumbled, shifting her eyes down to the baby at her breast. Draco's eyes followed and he was once again fascinated by the tiny thing and the image that they both created.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What's his name?"

"Samuel Amadeus Granger," she said softly, stroking the fair, downy hair that already covered his head.

"Oh, we'll have to change that," he said. Hermione looked at him as if he was mad.

"Excuse me? If you don't like it, you should have been here!"

He knew she didn't just mean in the hospital room when she had named him, because they both knew he had not been allowed in, but seeing the tears filling her eyes, he tried to explain.

"I just meant that you can't give the poor kid initials that spell out _sag_."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment and then scowled. "How the hell are you planning on changing it?" Her words were scathing; obviously she didn't think he could change it, and Draco knew he couldn't. At least, not unless she agreed.

"Well, his initials could spell out—well, I guess they would spell out Sam, now wouldn't they?"

Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly, Draco thought. He loathed spelling it out for her, and if she wasn't going to understand, he'd have to find some other way to propose, but then she opened her mouth and she wasn't smiling so his heart sank and his mind raced even as he listened to her words.

"You... you don't think that would be absurd?" she asked. No, he did not think marrying her would be absurd, and he couldn't fathom why she would think so, but he did think her question was an absurd one.

"Of course not. You just gave birth to my baby, and I—you know I love you." The way she turned her head away, a guilty look on her face, stunned him. "You _do_ know that, don't you?"

"I've never understood why you would. I stayed with you all that time fully expecting you to dump me at any moment to be with Parkinson, because I knew you were engaged to her. But I took what you gave me, and I hoped it would be enough. I hoped I would be enough."

Completely horrified, Draco grabbed the hand that did not hold their baby to her breast. He couldn't believe he had done exactly as she'd feared. No wonder it was hard for her to believe that he had ever loved her and loved her still.

"I do love you. And once I realized that I did, I thought I'd found an escape from Pansy. Then I did a stupid thing and without you, I saw no other way. If I couldn't have you, I didn't want anyone else, so I resigned myself to her. But you have to understand that I always loved you, and no one else but you."

"Even so, Draco, we haven't spoken to each other in months. You've been with another girl. What if she—"

And Draco knew what she couldn't say, and he couldn't blame her for thinking it, even as everything that made him Draco Malfoy recoiled from such an idea. He turned her chin so that he could see her eyes, to make sure that she was paying close attention.

"I did not sleep with Pansy. You are the only one I've ever been with in that way."

"She's engaged to you. You've announced it," she replied softly.

"I don't care. My parents picked her out for me, but they can have her back. We're not married. I can still return her with the receipt."

The words made a tiny smile tug at the corner of her lips just as he hoped they would.

Draco kissed the pad of Hermione's thumb, his eyes locked onto hers. Then he kissed each of the fingertips on her hand and her soft palm.

"You've done this by yourself for so long. Let me take care of you. I don't want you to be alone anymore. I will work harder than I've ever worked in my life to keep you. I can't promise it will be easy, but I will love you and I will try so hard. Will you let me make an honest woman out of you?"

"It would be a cruel thing to do to Parkinson," she sighed.

"She is cruel herself."

"Everyone will think you are too," she replied worriedly.

"I only care about what you think."

"And I only want to be with you."

"Is that a yes, _Mrs. Malfoy_?"

"It is, Mr. Malfoy."


	12. Epilogue

_February 2, 2009  
Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Not mine, no money.  
A/N: Thanks so much to Lyndsie Fenele for beta-ing, not only this chapter but the entire story, from chapter one of Diary of a Songbird to this epilogue. I have to thank all my readers: those who have stuck with the story from the beginning, and even the new readers who have dropped in over the last four years. Yes, four years! I never would have gotten this far without you. I mean it!_

_Review if you like it, and thanks for reading!_

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**Epilogue**

A little brown-haired girl of seven barreled into the spare bedroom her parents used for storage, giggling hysterically. She slammed the door shut after her, her sleek, wavy hair flying as she ducked for cover behind a large cardboard box. Stifling laughter, her heart pounding with adrenaline from the chase, the girl waited for her older brother and sister to barge through the door and find her. No one came, and after a few restless seconds, she stood up from her crouch and prepared to sneak back out of the room.

But a bright red object sitting on top of the junk in the open box caught her attention, and her curiosity could not be curbed. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a book, and wondering what kind of pictures it contained, she picked it up and eagerly turned a few pages.

It was a boring book, she was disappointed to see. Most of the pages were filled with handwritten words in purple or black ink. Not interested in the secrets held within, she snapped the book shut and studied the cover. There was nothing special about it except for the gold words she recognized as her mum's name. Well, sort of. Her mum was obviously a Malfoy, not a Granger.

Just then, the door flew open with a loud bang and the little girl gasped, hiding the book behind her back.

"A-HA!" yelled a delicate-looking boy from the doorway. His shiny, platinum blond hair had been parted on the side and fixed neatly only that morning, but now it hung loosely at the sides of his face, disheveled from activity. "Found you, Cassandra!" he gloated, a smug smirk spreading across his thin face.

The boy had the appearance of being very fragile because he was so thin. Even though he was the oldest of the three children, the blonde-haired girl standing behind him towered over him. Compared to her, he was a tiny thing.

"What's that you got there?" the other girl asked her younger sister Cassandra shrewdly. She narrowed her eyes, her hands on her hips in an uncanny imitation of their mother. "Mum told us not to come in here!" It was clear that this girl took after her mother in more ways than one.

"Stuff it, _Narcissa_. I wasn't doing nothing. You're in here too!" Cassandra replied.

"Wait 'til I tell Mum!" Narcissa cried happily.

"Wait 'til you tell Mum what?" the mum in question asked from behind her two oldest children.

Cassandra said, "Nothing!" at the same time that her ten-year-old sister said, "She's been snooping in boxes!"

"Sam, what did I say about playing in here?" Hermione asked her oldest child, to his immediate splutters and complaints.

"But Cassie was playing in here! We were just looking for her!" Hermione narrowed her eyes. Her daughters giggled until she directed her gaze at them.

"What's that behind your back?" she asked her youngest.

"Nothing!" Cassandra's grey eyes were wide and her face was carefully blank, feigning innocence. Twelve years of raising children had taught Hermione how to tell when one of her darlings was not being truthful, and with all of her experience, she did not fall for her daughter's act.

She held out her hand, the other hand on her hip.

"Hand it over."

Draco stepped in the doorway just then and asked, "What's everybody doing hanging out in this dusty old room?"

Cassandra shoved the red book into her mum's hand and ran out the door shouting over her shoulder, "Not it!"

"I'm Uncle Harry!" Sam cried, running after her.

Hermione heard Draco grumble crossly, "_He's not your uncle."_

Narcissa followed her siblings complaining, "I don't want to be Voldemort! I'm _always_ Voldemort!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at her husband as he kissed her on the cheek and then left the spare bedroom to comfort his daughter.

"Don't worry, love, I'll be Voldemort. You can be your mum."

Now alone, Hermione rolled her eyes again at the room and the boxes that filled it. She looked down at the object Cassandra had tried to hide. Her heart jumped to see the familiar leather cover of her old diary. Flipping it open to the last entry she had ever written in it, dated a little over twelve years previously, she read:

_Draco is being insufferable. I've been propped up nice and cozy in my old bedroom at home and everyday, when he finishes his exams, he Floos over as if he owns the place just to tell me I'm not allowed to do anything! Mum plies him with tea and biscuits and chats up a storm, while I'm trapped in my room. They are all conspiring against me, I swear._

Hermione remembered those days just after she'd been released from St. Mungo's. She hadn't been allowed back at Hogwarts because it was NEWTs week and without her magic, she had basically been useless. She had been willing to sit the theory portions of her exams, but everyone in her life had refused to let her, saying she needed to rest without the stress of studying if she wanted to regain her magic. Of course, being kept away from studying stressed her out more than it rested her.

The Healers at St. Mungo's had kept Sam for observation after she'd been released. Born four weeks premature, he was so little and frail that the Healers had feared he wouldn't survive. Hermione might have been under house arrest "resting", but she had worried about her baby every waking minute. Draco had visited him in her place and tried to reassure her that she would see him soon.

By the time she was allowed to take him home, her magic had returned and Draco had finished school. Sam was as healthy as he could be but he was always tiny and seemingly breakable growing up.

The diary entry went on.

_Narcissa stopped by today to say that Lucius has been declared mad, but he admitted to all of his crimes gloatingly so he was thrown into a nice cell in Azkaban. Healers feared he would be a danger to others in the hospital, and the Wizengamot had no qualms about putting him in prison under twenty-four hour surveillance, despite his mental state._

_I wish they would have killed him._

It was a dark and horrible thing for her to wish, but Hermione had still been suffering from nightmares of the night she'd been abducted, and then add on top of that, her emotional state after being kept away from her son, her friends, and Hogwarts.

Narcissa had been a calming presence during her recovery. She visited often, sitting with Hermione for an hour or two, and she never seemed to care that she was inside a Muggle home with two Muggles down the hall. Draco had finally heard the whole of his mother's side of the story from Narcissa and their relationship had gone back to rights. It always cheered her more to see them interacting amicably again.

Draco and Narcissa were the only people outside of her family that Hermione was allowed to see, but she had been permitted to receive owls from her friends and to write back to them. She had still been unbearably lonely and bored sometimes, but it seemed the combination of the two were the cure to getting her magic back. Once her house arrest was over, she never complained about it again.

Hermione continued reading.

_The Daily Prophet is full of speculation about why Draco broke off his engagement to Parkinson. As soon as he told her it was over, she told everyone that I was having a baby and that was why I wasn't in school. Professor Dumbledore happened to be passing by her at one point and apparently made a comment about what an astonishing little boy my baby was, too. Parkinson tried to tell everyone that the baby was Harry's, trying to spread scandalous gossip, but Draco said he, Harry, Ron, and Ginny all cornered her in a corridor and hexed her until she decided she'd gotten it wrong._

_Ginny told me that there were still plenty of people who believed the scandal, and that Draco went around making sure everyone knew that my baby was his._

_Have I gone 'round the bend, or should I not be as ecstatic about that as I am?_

Over the years, Draco had only continued to show his devotion to her and their children. She tried as hard as she could to make up for her mistakes as well, and it certainly hadn't been easy, especially in the beginning of their marriage. But they had managed, and they were happy now. Neither one of them could imagine their life without each other, or even Sam, Narcissa, and Cassandra. Hermione had no regrets, and she was almost certain that Draco hadn't any either.

Behind her in the hallway, all three children ran past the door screaming at the top of their lungs while Draco chased them, roaring and hissing, his arms waving wildly in the air.

Hermione didn't even pause in her perusal of her diary. Such scenes were common occurrences in the new Malfoy house.

The last of the entry said:

_I don't think I'll need this diary anymore. I've flown through the darkest part of my life and I don't know how it could be worse. Well, I suppose I do, but I'm not going to dwell on it needlessly. The skies that Draco and I are flying through now may be cloudy, but they are a glorious blue. It may rain sometimes, but clouds always part and the sun will always shine through._

"Mummy! We want to see you turn into a bird again!" Cassandra panted from the doorway. "Daddy said you'd show us!"

Hermione rolled her eyes for the third time and sighed dramatically. He had probably got tired of running all over the place and distracted the children by promising magic tricks.

"Of course, sweetie," she said, closing her diary and tossing it indifferently back into the box of her old Hogwarts things.

She hadn't even bothered to finish reading the entry, because she knew how her story ended.

_We'll make it. I know we will._

And they had.

* * *

_Final note:  
Samuel "Sam" Amadeus Malfoy - 12  
Narcissa "Cissy" Lyra Malfoy - 10  
Cassandra "Cassie" Alice Malfoy - 7_


End file.
